'^1^. 


PRESENTED  TO  THE  LIBRARY 


OF 


PRINCETON  THEOLOGICHL  SEMINARY 


BY 


JVIrs.  Rlej^ander  Ppoudfit. 


■■:  *■■ 


^m 


,^u/i-^^ZP 


SERMONS, 


CHIEFLV   on 


PARTICULAR    OCCASIONS. 


BY  ARCHIBALD  ALISON,  LL.  B. 

BRHBBNDARV  OF   8ARUM,    RECfOR    OF     RODINGTON,    VICAR   OF   HIGH   ERCAL,   AHP 
BfiNIOR   MIMSTBR    OF   TUB   EPISCOPAL  CHAFBL,   COWGATE,   XDINBl'KiiH. 


FROM   TUB  BDINBVRGH   BDITION. 


boston: 

PBINTBD    AND   PUBLISHED   BV    WELLS   AND    LILLT. 


1815. 


REVEREND  ROBERT  MOREHEAD,  M,  A, 

JUNIOR   MINISTER, 

•to 

THE  DIRECTORS,  AND  TO  THE  CONGREGATION 

OS   THE  EPISCOPAL  CHAPEL,  COWGATE,    BDINBUROH, 


SERMONS 


ABE   INSCRIBED,    IN    THSTIMONV    OF  THE    MOST   SINCERE    GRATITUDE,    AND    THE    MOST 
RESPECTFUL   AFFECTION. 


ADVERTISEMENT. 


The    following  Sermons  were  written    in    the 
course  of  duty,  without  any  view  to  publication  ; 
and  they  are  now  published  only  in  obedience  to  the 
desire  of  those  who  heard  them.     To  them  they 
have  a  value  very  different  from  that  of  literary 
merit ;  the  value  which  kindness  ever  gives  to  the 
objects  upon  which  it  has  long  been  employed; 
the  value,  still  more,  which  time   bestows  upon 
the  feelings  and  the  memories  of  former  years. 
To  the  rest  of  the  world,  I  feel,  they  have  no  re- 
commendations ;  and  had  it  been  possible  for  me, 
therefore,  to  have  limited  the  publication  to  the 
congregation  to  whom  they  were  originally  ad- 
dressed, I  should  never  have  presumed  to  intrude 
them  upon  the  notice  of  the  world. 

To  those  who  are  unacquainted  with  that  Con- 
gregation, it  is  necessary  for  me  to  state,  that  it 
is  of  a  peculiar  kind ;  that  it  is  composed  almost 

entirely  of  persons  in  the  higher  ranks,  or  in  the 
3 


X  ADVERTISExMENT. 

more  respectable  conditions  of  society  ;  and  that 
one  very  interesting  part  of  it  is  formed  by  the 
young,  who,  in  the  course  of  academical  educa- 
tion, are  preparing  themselves  for  the  important 
stations  or  the  liberal  professions  of  future  life. 
The  recollection  of  these  circumstances  may,  I 
hope,  sometimes  account  for  the  choice  of  sub- 
jects, and  sometimes  for  the  views  and  illustra- 
tions that  are  employed. 

Such  as  these  sermons  are,  I  now  submit  them 
to  the  world,  with  no  other  sentiment  than  that 
of  the  most  unfeigned  humility ;  and  1  request 
it  may  be  believed,  that  their  appearance  is  not 
the  result  of  voluntary  presumption,  but  of  th» 
simple  obedience  to  grateful  duty. 

Edinbursh,  March  24,  1814 


CONTENTS. 


SERMON  I. 

On  the  Beginning  of  the  Century. 

Psalm  cii.  27. 

Thou  art  the  same  :  and  thy  years  shall  not  fail.  -        -        17 

SERMON  II. 

On  Spring. 
Job  xlii.  5. 
I  have  heard  of  Thee  by  the  hearing  of  the  ear,  but  now  mine 

eye  seeth  Thee.        ----...  oS 

SERMON  III. 
On  the  Youth  of  Solomon. 
1  Kings  iii.  7,  &c. 
And  Solomon    said :   And  now  O  Lord  my  God  !   Thou  hast 
made  thy  servant  king  instead  of  David  my  father  ;  and  I 
am  but  a  little  child  :  1  know  not  how  to  go  out  and  to 
come  in. 
Give,  therefore,  thy  servant  an  understanding  heart  to  judge 
thy  people,  that  I  may  discern  between  good  and  bad,  tor 
who  is  able  to  judge  this  so  great  a  people  ? 
And  the  speech  pleased  the  Lord,  that  Solomon  had  asked 

this  thing.  -.....,.4) 


XU  CONTENTS. 

SERMON  IV. 

On  the  General  Fast,  1801. 

Proverbs  xix.  21.  ' 

There  are  many  devices  in  man's  heart ;  nevertheless  the  coun- 
sel of  the  Lord,  that  shall  stand.        ....  5t 

SERMON  V. 

On  Seasons  of  Scarcity. 

Psalm  xc.  3. 

Thou  turnest  man  to  destruction :  Again  Thou  sayest,  Come 

again,  ye  children  of  men.  -----        73 

SERMON  VI. 

On  the  Encouragement  which    the  Gospel  Affords  to 
Active  duty. 
St.  Mabe  viii.  9. 
And  they  that  had  eaten  were  about  four  thousand :  and  he  sent 

them  away.        --------  86 

SERMON  VII. 

On  the  General  Fast,  October  20,  1803. 

St.  Luke  xxi.  19. 

In  your  patience  possess  ye  your  souls.  -       -       -       -       98 

SERMON  VIII. 

On  the  Religious  and  Moral  Ends  of  Knowledge. 

Proverbs  iii.  13,  &c. 

Happy  is  the  man  that  findeth  wisdom,  and  the  man  that  getteth 

understanding ! — She  is  more  precious  than  rubies,  and 

all  the  things  thou  canst  desire  are  not  to  be  compared 

unto  her.     Length  of  days  is  in  her  right  hand ;  and  in 

her  left  hand  riches  and  honour.     Her  ways  are  ways  of 

pleasantness,  and  all  her  paths  are  peace.        -       -  W9 


CONTENTS.  Xill 

SERMON    IX. 

Continuation  of  the  same  Subject,  with  regard  to  the 

Young  in  the  Higher  Conditions  of  Life. 

Proverbs  iii.  13,  &c. 

Happy  is  the  man  that  findeth  wisdom,  and  the  man  that 
getteth  understanding ! — She  is  more  precious  than  ru- 
bies, and  ail  the  things  thou  canst  desire  are  not  to  be 
compared  unto  her.  Length  of  days  is  in  her  right  hand  ; 
and  in  her  left  hand  riches  and  honour.  Her  ways  are 
ways  of  pleasantness,  and  all  her  paths  are  peace.       -        121 

SERMON  X. 

On  Summer. 
Judges  v.  31. 
Let  them  that  love  the  Lord  be  as  the  sun,  when  he  goeth  forth 

in  his  might.  _----..  133 

SERMON  XI. 

On  the  Thanksgiving  for  the  Victory  at  Trafalgar. 

St.  Matthew  xvii.  4. 
Then  answered  Peter,  and  said  unto  Jesus,  Lord !  it  is  good 

for  us  to  be  here.       ---.---149 

SERMON  XII. 
On  Evil  Communication. 

1  Corinthians  xv.  33. 
Be  not  deceived :  evil  communications  corrupt  good  manners.    169 

SERMON  XIII. 

On  the  Fast,  February  27,  1806. 
Psalm  Ixxx.  19. 
O  Lord  God  of  Hosts !  shew  the  light  of  thy  countenaoce,  and 

we  shall  be  whole. 172 


xir  CONTENTS. 

SERMON  XIV. 

On  Freedom  of  Thought. 

1  St.  Peter  ii.  16. 

As  free,  and  not  using  your  liberty  as  a  cloak  of  maliciousness, 

but  as  the  servants  of  God.  -----        185 

SERMON  XV. 

On  the  General  Fast,  February  9,  1809. 

St.  Matthew  xvi.  3. 

Can  ye  not  discern  the  signs  of  the  times  ?  .        -        -        198 

SERMON  XVI. 
On  Autumn. 

Genesis  xxiv.  63. 
And  Isaac  went  out  to  meditate  in  the  field,  at  the  even-tide.      212 

SERMON  XVII. 

On  the  Jubilee,  appointed  for  the  50th  Anniversary 
of  the  King's  Accession,  October  25,  1809. 

Genesis  xliii.  27,  28. 

And  Joseph  asked  them  of  their  welfare,  and  said,  Is  your 
father  well  ?  The  old  man  of  whom  ye  spake,  is  he  yet 
alive  ?  And  they  answered.  Our  father  is  yet  alive.  And 
they  bowed  down  their  heads,  and  made  obeisance.      -        224 

SERMON  XVIII. 

On  the  Consolations  which  the  Gospel  Affords  under 
the  Natural  Evils  of  Life. 
St.  John  ix.  1. 

And  as  Jesus  passed  by,  he  spw  a  man  which  was  blind  from 
his  birth  ; — And  his  disciples  asked  him,  saying,  Master, 
who  did  sin,  this  man  or  his  parents,  that  he  was  born 
blind  ? — Jesus  answered,  neither  hath  this  man  sinned, 
nor  his  parents  :  but  that  the  works  of  God  should  be 
made  manifest  in  him.        ------       23$ 


CONTENTS.  XV 

SERMON  XIX. 

On  the  Fast,  Februaiy,  1811. 

Romans  xii.  21. 

Be  not  overcome  of  evil ;  but  overcome  evil  with  good.       -        251 

SERMON  XX. 

On  Winter,  as  the  Season  of  Social  Amusement. 
Psalm  Ixxxiv.  5,  6. 
Blessed  are  the  men,  who  goin^  through  the  vale  of  misery,  use 

it  for  a  well ;  and  the  pools  are  filled  with  water.        -        26G 

SERMON  XXT. 

On  Winter,  as  the  Season  of  Religious  Thought. 
Psalm  Ixxiv.  17. 
Thou  hast  made  summer  and  winter-        -        .        .        -  277 

SERMON  XXII. 

On  the  General  Thanksgiving,  January  13,  1814. 

St.  Matthew  xvii.  4. 

Then  answered  Peter,  and  said  unto  Jesus,  Lord  !  it  is  good  for 
us  to  be  here  :  if  thou  wilt,  let  us  make  here  three  taber- 
uacles,  one  for  thee,  and  one  for  Moses,  and  one  for  Elias.     287 


SERMON  I. 


ON  THE    BEGINNING  OF  THE  CENTURY. 

Psalm  cii.  27. 
"  Thou  art  the  same :  and  thy  years  shall  not  fail." 

1  HE  commencement  of  a  new  year  is  an  event 
which  leads  even   the  most   thoughtless  to  some 
degree  of  reflection.     There  is  something  always 
solemn  in   the  return  of   these  stated  memorials  of 
time.     They  call    upon  us  to  some   review  of  our 
conduct  in  the  years  that  are  past,  and  to  some  esti- 
mate of  what  we   have  gained   or  have  lost  in  our 
commerce  v/ith  the  world.     They  remind  us  of  tha 
progress  of  time,  and  of  our  own  progress  to  eter- 
nity.    But,  far  more  than  all,  they  remind  us  of  our 
dependence    upon   him,   who  is    "  the  Ancient  of 
'^Days;''    who,  while  we  change,  *^  is  still  the 
same,"  and  "  whose  years  alone  shall  never  fail.'^ 
Life,  while  it  thus  is  passing  from  us  all,  leaves 
us  the  sense  of  its  importance.     It    was  given  us 
for  the  greatest  and  most  magnificent  purpose.     It 
was  given  us  by  Him  who  alone  is  good,  that  we 
might  advance  in  kno>vledge,  in  virtue,  and  in  liap- 
piness  ;    that  we  might  rise  in  the  system  of  being 
to  some  unknown  ends  of  moral  and  iutellectujil 
3 


18  ON  THE  BEGINNING 

perfection  ;  and  that,  at  the  last,  under  tlie  light  of 
the  Sun  of  Righteousness,  we  might  join  '^"  that  in- 
"  numerable  multitude  of  all  nations,  and  kindred, 
^'  and  tongues,  who  stand  before  the  Throne  and 
"  the  Lamb  for  ever.'' 

On  tlie  return,  then,  of  those  seasons  by  whicli 
we  number  our  days,  it  is  wise  in  us  to  think  how 
our  years  have  hitherto  been  employed  ;  what  it  is 
that  we  have  been  doing  in  the  time  we  iiave  enjoy- 
ed ;  and  whether  we  have  indeed  been  fulfilling  the 
great  ends  for  which  we  were  brought  into  being. 
Meditations  of  this  kind  become  u&  all ;  and,  while 
they  remind  us  of  the  magnificent  purposes  for  which 
we  were  born,  they  fit  us  to  enter  upon  a  new  year 
with  comfort  and  resolution.  I  pray  Grod  that  it 
may  be  with  these  solemn,  but  elevated  sentiments, 
that  all  of  us  may  now  enter  upon  the  new  season, 
which  is  given  us  by  "  Him  that  liveth  for  ever." 

At  this  time,  however,  my  brethren,  we  have 
entered  upon  a  greater  period.     The  same  hour 
which  closed  the  year,  closed  also  a  Century  of 
years,  and,  what  is  to  us  more  important,   it  closed 
the  eighteenth  century  of  the  religion  of  Him  ^'  who 
*^has  brought  Life  and  Immortality  to  light  by  hisf 
*^  Gospel.''     There    are    innumerable    reflections 
which  will  arise  in  every  thoughtful  mind  upon  so 
solemn  and  so  unusual  an  occasion.     The  course 
of  time  has  led  us,  as  it  were,  to  a  higher  eminence 
in  the  prospect  of  human  nature.     The   past  and 
the  future  seem  more  distinctly  to  lie  before  us,  and 


OF  THE  CENTURY.  19 

a  solemn  pause  is  aflbrded  us,  in  wliicli  wc  can 
more  truly  estimate  what  life  has  brought,  and 
what  it  is  to  bring. — The  moment  itself  is  profuse 
in  instruction  ;  and  I  shall  limit  myself  to  suggest 
to  you  some  of  tliose  simple  and  obvious  reflections, 
which  seem  most  naturally  to  arise  from  the  circum- 
stances in  which  we  now  assemble. 

1.  The  first  and  the  most  powerful  of  these  re- 
flections is,  that  of  our  dependence  upon  "Him  who 
^^  inhabiteth  eternity."  We  are  arrived,  in  our 
generation,  at  the  opening  of  the  nineteenth  age  of 
the  Religion  of  Christ,  and  we  have  presented  this 
day,  to  the  Tiirone  of  Heaven,  tlie  same  petitions 
which  have  been  oiFered  by  the  faithful  who  have 
gone  before  us,  in  every  age  of  that  memorable  time. 
They  are  all  now  mouldering  in  their  graves  ;  but 
He  that  made  them  never  dies.  The  same  ear 
which  listened  to  their  petitions,  now  listens  to  ours. 
The  same  spirit  which  was  in  tlie  midst  of  them,  and 
the  infant  assemblies  of  the  church,  is  in  these  mo- 
ments in  the  midst  of  us,  and  of  every  congregation 
that  is  met  in  his  name :  and  the  same  arm,  which, 
in  every  difficulty  or  danger,  has  made  the  Church 
of  Christ  triumphant  to  our  day,  is  still  uplifted  to 
protect  the  progress  of  the  "  everlasting  Gospel.'" 
There  is  something,  my  brethren,  inexpressibly 
consoling  to  the  weakness  of  humanity,  in  this  re- 
flection :  while  W'e  stand  as  it  w^ere  amid  the  ruin* 
of  time,  and  see  the  races  of  men  thus  successively 
vising  and  falling  before  us,  we  see,  at  the  sam« 


26  ON  THE  BEGINNING 

time,  the  Eternal  Mind  that  governs  the  whole  de- 
sign. We  see  a  system  carrying  on,  in  which  all 
things  "  are  working  together  for  good"  to  the  wise 
and  to  the  virtuous  ;  and  which  is  to  close  at  last, 
''  in  honour,  in  glory,  and  in  immortality."  Me- 
ditations of  this  kind  are  fitted  to  strengthen  and 
elevate  every  heart.  They  are  fitted  to  give  a  voice 
to  time  as  it  passes,  and  to  make  it  speak  to  us  jof 
the  goodness  *^  of  Him  who  Uveth  for  ever  and 
"  ever."  They  are  fitted  still  more  to  prostrate  us, 
in  the  opening  of  a  new  age,  before  the  Throne  of 
Eternity  ;  to  dispose  us  to  cast  all  our  cares  upon 
that  God  who  careth  for  us  ;  and  to  subject  every 
thought  and  desire  of  our  own  to  the  will  of  Him, 
in  whom  alone  are  all  the  treasures  of  wisdom, 
^^  and  who"  alone  '^^  was,  and  is,  and  is  to  come." 
%.  In  descending  from  this  first  and  greatest  re- 
flection, we  are  led  to  consider,  in  the  second 
place,  the  nature  of  that  age,  of  which  we  have 
witnessed  the  close.  Every  thing  tells  us  that 
there  is  some  progress  going  on  in  Nature, — some 
advance  of  the  human  race,  either  to  improve- 
ment or  degradation  ;  and  it  is  natural  to  us  to 
inquire,  whether  the  age  which  is  gone  is  likely 
to  transmit  happiness  or  misery  to  posterity. 
In  this  respect  also,  my  brethren,  we  have  much 
reason  for  consolation.  The  century  which  haf 
now  left  us,  has  doubtless  been  one  of  the  most 
distinguished  in  the  annals  of  human  nature.  It 
succeeded  ages  of  rudeness  and  barbarism,  and  has 


or  THE  CENTURY.  21 

fully  discharged  its  duties  in  the  iraprovcmcnt  of 
humanity.  Nations  who  before  lay  in  dari^ness 
and  ignorance,  have  emerged  into  day,  and  taken 
their  position  upon  the  theatre  of  society.  A  new 
world  lias  risen  with  gigantick  steps  into  maturity, 
and  already  begins  to  display  the  lights  of  know- 
ledge, and  the  wealth  of  industry.  The  boundaries 
of  tliat  world  we  inhabit  have  at  length  been  ex- 
plored :  and  a  path  is  opened  for  the  introduction 
of  the  gospel  to  the  remotest  habitations  of  man. 

In  the  progress  which  will  for  ever  distinguish 
the  eighteenth  century,  our  own  country,  my  bre- 
thren, has  taken  an  exalted  share.  In  the  course  of 
a  period,  so  long  for  the  instability  of  man,  we 
have  enjoyed  the  greatest  portion  of  national  hap- 
piness and  prosperity  that  has  ever  fallen  to  the  lot 
of  the  societies  of  men.  The  crimes  and  agitations 
of  a  former  age  have  expired  :  and  the  constitution 
of  our  land  has  settled  into  that  wise  balance  of 
power  and  of  liberty,  which  no  speculation  of  phi- 
losophy could  have  foreseen,  but  which  is  now  sub- 
stantiated, for  the  instruction  of  the  future  worki, 
by  the  evidence  of  a  hundred  years  of  unpreceden- 
ted welfare,  and  of  expanding  prosperity.  Even 
in  the  present  moments,  my  brethren,  an  event 
has  taken  place,  which  promises  to  give  no  mean 
addition  to  the  prosperity  and  dignity  of  the  empire. 
The  union  with  our  sister  kingdom,  so  long  wished 
for  by  the  wise  and  benevolent,  and  so  long  oppo- 
sed by  national,  and,  above  all,  by  religious  preju- 


\ 


22  ON  THE  BEGINNING 

dices  J  at  length,  by  the  perseverance  of  the  legisla- 
tive wisdom,  dignifies  the  opening  of  the  new 
century  :  and  1  trust  in  God,  tliat  the  same  sound 
of  publick  rejoicing  which  announced  it  to  us,  will 
announce  to  that  long  neglected,  and  perhaps  op- 
pressed people,  the  commencement  of  a  new  era 
of  wealth,  of  liberty,  and  of  happiness. 

The  age  which  is  past  has  left  us  another  sub- 
ject of  national  gratulation, — that,  I  mean,  of  the 
extension  which  it  has  given  to  human  knowledge. 
In  no  age,  certainly,  has  the  spirit  of  science  so 
fully  been  awakened,  or  so  generally  disseminated : 
and  were  we  to  compare  the  state  of  knowledge  at 
the  beginning  and  the  end  of  the  period  we  are 
considering,  the  step  which  the  human  mind  has 
made  in  that  time  would  appear  almost  incredible. 
On  every  side,  indeetl,  fhe  boundaries  of  science 
have  been  enlarged  ;  our  acquaintance  with  nature 
increased ;  and  the  labours  of  philosophy  with- 
drawn from  visionary  speculation,  to  those  practi- 
cal ends  by  which  humanity  may  be  bettered  or 
improved.  Under  this  influence,  the  arts  of  social 
life  have  been  cultivated  with  unprecedented  suc- 
cess ;  the  foundations  of  national  wealth  and 
greatness  have  been  investigated  ;  and  that  great 
doctrine  first  taught  from  the  schools  of  science, 
which  unites  national  prosperity  with  national 
justice,  and  which  will  one  day  reduce  the  conduct 
of  nations  to  the  strictest  rules  of  Christian  bene- 
volence.    But,  above  all,  the  extension  of  know- 


OF  THE  CENTURY.  88 

ledge  has  ministered  to  the  happiness  of  men,  by 
the  support  which  it  lias  aflbrded  to  the  cause  of 
religion, — not  only  in  the  memorable  labours  of 
those  who  have  either  displayed  the  beauty,  or 
demonstrated  the  truth  of  Christianity, — but  also 
in  the  unparalleled  discoveries  with  which,  in  the 
age  that  is  past,  the  perseverance  of  science  has 
been  rewarded,  with  respect  to  the  Works  of  the 
Almighty  ; — discoveries,  in  comparison  of  which 
all  former  knowledge  was  trifling  ;  which,  at 
every  step,  lead  us  to  more  exalted  conceptions 
of  tiie  goodness  as  w  ell  as  greatness  of  Him  that 
made  us,  and  w  hicli  have  now  engraved  the  name 
of  God  upon  the  altar  of  the  universe  with  the 
hand  of  demonstration. 

3.  I  trust  I  may  add,  in  the  third  place,  my 
brethren,  that  the  age  which  has  past  has  also  im- 
proved in  virtue.  However  much  we  may  still 
have  to  regret  the  weakness  or  the  vices  of  our  na- 
ture, it  were  unjust  and  uncandid  not  to  acknow- 
ledge, that,  in  comparison  with  the  ages  that  pre- 
ceded it,  the  last  age  has  added  eminently  to  social 
happiness.  Many  of  the  barbarities  of  ancient 
manners  have  been  softened;  many  of  the  prejudi- 
ces which  divided  men  from  each  other  have  been 
dissolved.  Learning  and  knowledge  have  found 
their  way  to  every  rank  of  mankind  ;  and,  while 
they  have  given  new  dignity  and  happiness  to  the 
higher  conditions  of  society,  they  have,  at  the  same 
time,  improved  the  conduct,  while  they  have  ele- 


24  ON  THE  BEGINNING 

vated  the  minds  of  tlie  people.  But,  above  all, 
the  virtue  which  peculiarly  distinguishes  the  last 
agC;,  is  that  of  humanity, —  the  humanity  that  has 
sprung  from  the  fountain  of  the  Gospel :  a  human- 
ity not  capricious  and  momentary,  but  princi- 
pled and  enlightened  ;  which  directs  the  labours 
of  the  legislator,  as  well  as  the  meditations  of  the 
philosopher;  which,  in  every  moment  of  distress, 
associates  the  great  and  opulent  in  the  service  of 
the  poor  and  the  distressed ;  and  which,  even  in 
the  midst  of  war  and  animosity,  unites  all  the  wise 
and  benevolent  of  every  Christian  nation,  in  the 
common  cause  of  alleviating  the  distresses,  or  im- 
proving the  condition  of  the  human  race. 

Such,  my  brethren,  is  the  view  which  we  may 
justly  take  of  the  century  that  has  passed.  And, 
if  it  be  pleasing  to  think  that,  under  the  influence 
of  the  Gospel  of  Christ,  human  nature  has,  in  that 
period,  made  some  advance  towards  knowledge 
and  happiness,  it  is,  at  the  same  time,  solemn  to 
remember  the  duties  that  fall  upon  us.  In  the 
opening  of  a  new  age,  we  are  the  actors  in  this 
great  system.  Upon  us  it  depends,  whether  the 
progress  of  mankind  is  to  be  accelerated  or  re- 
tarded. And  there  is  no  sentiment  with  which 
we  can  more  nobly  meet  the  season,  as  the  pro- 
found conviction,  that,  upon  our  conduct,  in  our 
different  situations  or  conditions,  depends  the  cha- 
racter and  happiness  of  the  age  that  is  to  follow 
us. 


OF  THE  CENTURY.  25 

4.  There  is  anotlier  reflection,  my  brethren,  of 
a  still  more  solemn  kind,  which  must  naturally 
have  occurred  to  us  all.  Of  the  period  of  which 
we  have  seen  the  beginning,  none  of  us  can  see 
the  end.  Long  ere  the  century  closes,  all  of  us, 
young  or  old,  rich  or  poor,  will  be  numbered  with 
the  dead.  "The  silver  cord  will  be  loosed," 
and  "  the  golden  bowl  broken,"  and  "  every 
"spirit"  will  have  returned  "to  the  God  who 
"  gave  it." — It  is  a  reflection,  in  truth,  to  which  no 
ignorance  nor  barbarity  hath  rendered  the  human 
mind  insensible.  Even  amid  all  the  licentious 
worship  of  antiquity,  it  was  upon  these  occasions 
the  plaintive  call  of  the  herald,  "  Come  to  those 
'^  solemnities,  which  no  living  eye  hath  seen,  and 
^^  which  no  eye  will  see  again." 

Amid  this  dark  and  tremendous  prospect,  is 
there  no  voice  which  whispers  to  you,  my  Ire- 
thren,  how  good  "for  you  it  is  to  be  here  :"  or  that 
prostrates  you  in  these  moments  before  the  throne 
of  Nature,  in  "  thankfulness  to  Him"  who  hath 
given  "  you  the  victory,"  through  Jesus  Christ 
your  Lord  ?  "  And  I  was  in  the  spirit,  (says  the 
^^  evangelist)  upon  the  Lord's  day,  and  I  heard 
^'  behind  me  a  great  voice,  as  that  of  a  trumpet, 
"  saying,  I  am  Alpha  and  Omega,  the  First  and 
"  the  Last.  And  I  turned  to  the  voice  that  spake 
^'  with  me,  and  I  saw  one  like  unto  the  Son  of 
"  Man,  clothed  with  a  garment  down  to  the  foot, 
^'  and  girt  about  with  a  golden  girdle.     His  head 


20  ON  THE  BEGINNING 

'^  and  his  hairs  were  white  like  snow,  and  his  eyes 
'^  were  as  a  flame  of  fire,  and  his  voice  as  the 
'^  sound  of  many  waters.  And  when  I  saw  Him, 
''  I  fell  at  his  feet  as  dead;  and  He  laid  his  right 
^'  hand  upon  me,  saying  unto  me,  Fear  not,  I  am 
*^  the  First  and  the  Last,  I  am  He  that  liveth,  and 
*^^  was  dead — And  behold  I  am  alive  for  evermore, 
*^  and  have  the  keys  of  Hell  and  of  Death." 

These,  my  brethren,  are  the  sublime  anticipa- 
tions of  the  true  Christian — these  the  hopes  which 
He,  "  who  liveth  for  ever  and  ever,"  hath  given 
to  the  weakness  of  mortality.  It  is  to  that  greater 
world,  (which,  ere  this  century  shall  close,  all  of 
us  must  know)  that  the  eye  of  piety  is  permanently 
directed.  It  is  there  that  the  great  system  of  Al- 
mighty Wisdom  shall  finally  be  displayed ;  when 
all  doubts  shall  cease,  and  all  anxieties  be  dispel- 
led; when  this  corruptible  shall  put  on  incorrup-, 
tion,  ahdthis  mortal  shall  put  on  immortality;  and 
when  all  the  tears  which  life  hath  raised,  shall  be 
wiped  away  for  ever. 

It  is  to  this  great  termination  that  time  is  advan- 
cing ;  every  thing  that  we  see  around  us,  teaches  us 
that  life  is  an  imperfect  scene,  of  which  the  mighty 
conclusion  is  yet  to  come  :  and  every  year,  as  it 
passes,  takes  to  a  better  world  some  of  those  whom 
we  have  loved  or  honoured.  In  the  last  receptacle 
of  mortality,  tlie  rich  and  the  poor  "  make  their 
"  bed  together  ;"  and  there  we  alike  deposit  the 
youthful  head,  whose  opening  virtues  are  to  bios- 


OP  THE  CENTURY.  27 

som  ill  a  nobler  clime  ;  and  the  "  hoary  hairs," 
which  descend  at  last  to  the  grave,  ''  full  of  years 
**  and  of  honour." 

This  last  scene,  my  brethren,  we  have  lately 
witnessed.  Tlie  same  hours  which  closed  the  cen- 
tury, closed  also  the  life  of  one,*  who,  for  half  its 
period,  has  been  the  greatest  ornament  of  the  church 
of  this  land,  and  who  has  left  to  every  church 
a  model  of  piety  and  virtue  which  no  age  can  de- 
stroy. Over  this  recent  and  ever  memorable  grave, 
the  tears  of  humanity  will  fall ;  but  it  is  not  fit  they 
should  be  the  tears  of  unmanly  sorrow  :  it  is  fit,  on 
the  contrary,  while  we  stand  around  it,  that  our 
hearts  should  kindle  at  those  ashes  which  yet  are 
scarcely  cold  :  that  wliile  we  see  the  ^^  death  of  the 
*'  righteous,''  we  sliould  pray  that  '*  our  life"'  and 
our  "  end  may  be  like  his  ;"  and  that  we  should 
think  what  is  the  power  of  that  religion,  over  which 
the  ^*  grave  hath  no  victory,"  and  to  '^  which  death 
^'  hath  no  sting."  Happy,  indeed,  beyond  the 
usual  lot  of  mortality,  was  that  long  and  venerable 
life,  of  which,  alas  !  we  have  witnessed  the  close  : 
and,  to  Him  "  whom  he  had  made  good  in  his 
^'  sight,"  the  Almighty  dispensed,  even  here,  no 
common  measure  "  of  knowledge,  and  wisdom, 
^^  and  joy." — Happy,  in  being  called  into  existence 

*  The  Reverend  Dr.  Hugh  Blair. — This  great  and  amiable  man  dieJ  a  few 
days  before  this  Sermon  was  preached ;  and,  after  the  lapse  of  so  many  years,  I 
confess  that  I  have  still  a  melancholy  satisfaction  in  being  able  to  pay  this  humble 
tribute  to  a  memory  which  I  have  not  ceased  to  love  and  to  venerate. 


28         ON  THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE  CENTURY. 

in  the  most  splendid  age  of  his  country^  in  being 
the  friend  and  contemporary  of  all  those  who  have 
enlightened  or  adorned  it,  and  in  sharing  with  them 
in  the  applause  and  admiration  of  mankind : — 
Happy  in  an  old  age,  in  whieli  '^  his  eyes  waxed 
'^  not  dim,"  nor  his  "  natural  strength  decayed,'* 
and  in  a  death,  which,  after  no  long  suifcring,  re- 
moved him  from  the  service  of  the  "  sanctuary  be- 
^^  low,''  to  that  of  the  sanctuary  above  : — but  hap- 
pier far  than  all,  in  having  devoted  the  great  pow- 
ers with  which  he  was  entrusted,  to  the  sole  ends 
of  religion  and  virtue ;  in  being  the  minister  of  sal- 
vation to  ages  yet  unborn ;  and  in  having  established 
a  name,  before  which  all  the  future  generations  of 
man  will  rise  up  and  call  it  blessed  ! 

It  is  with  this  illustrious  example  before  us,  that 
we  enter  upon  a  new  age  ;  upon  that  age,  my  bre- 
thren, in  which  we  are  all  to  live  and  all  to  die. — 
May  He,  who  liveth  for  ever  and  ever,  be  our  Pro- 
tector and  Friend !  May  He  dwell  in  all  our  hearts, 
and  strengthen  all  our  resolutions,  and  listen  to  all 
our  prayers.  And  whatever  be  the  scenes  that  lie 
before  us,  may  we  so  advance,  under  his  guidance, 
upon  the  road  of  mortal  life,  that  in  the  "  last  day, 
^^  when  the  Saviour  of  the  world  shall  come  again 
'^  in  his  glorious  majesty  to  judge  botli  the  quick 
^'  and  the  dead,  we  may  all  rise  to  the  life  immortal, 
*^  through  Him  who  reigneth  with  the  Father,  and 
^'  the  Holy  Spirit,  noW;,  henceforth,  and  for  ever !'' 


SERMON  II. 


ON  SPRING. 


Job  xLii.  5. 


"  I  hare  heard  of  Thee  by  the  hearing  of  the  ear,  but  now  mine  eye 
seeth  Thee." 

These  are  tlie  words  with  which  Job  conchides 
the  interesting  account  of  his  sufferings  and  his 
doubts.  After  a  speculative  and  fruitless  conver- 
sation with  his  friends,  to  discover  the  cause  of 
those  afflictions  with  which  the  providence  of  God 
had  visited  him,  he  is  represented  as  at  last  raising 
his  eyes  from  himself  and  his  own  concerns,  to- 
wards the  Government  of  Nature  :  And  the  Al- 
mighty is  brought  forward  as  speaking  to  him  from 
amid  the  whirlwind  of  liis  power,  and  pointing  out 
to  him,  amid  his  despondence,  some  of  tlie  most 
striking  instances  in  which  His  greatness  and  wis- 
dom are  manifested  in  the  world  that  surrounds 
him.  Then  Job  answered,  in  the  sublime  and 
memorable  words  of  the  text,  "I  have  heard  of 
*^  Thee  by  the  hearing  of  the  ear,  but  now  mine 
''  eye  seeth  Thee." 

The  words,  my  brethren,  are  still  applicable  to 
us.    Even  now,  the  greatest  and  most  important 


30  ON  SPRING. 

part  of  our  religious  knowledge,  our  knowledge 
of  the  nature  and  attributes  of  "  Him  that  made 
^^  us,"  is  acquired  solely  "  by  the  hearing  of  the 
''  ear."  The  early  instruction  of  the  parent ;  the 
occasional  hours  of  reading  and  meditation  ;  and 
the  publick  exhortations  of  the  pulpit, — constitute 
all  that  the  generality  of  men  know  upon  the  most 
momentous  subject  of  human  information.  There 
are  few  who  have  been  taught  in  infancy  to  raise 
their  minds  to  the  contemplation  of  His  works  ; 
who  love  to  kindle  their  adoration  at  the  altar  of 
nature,  or  to  lose  themselves  in  astonishment  amid 
the  immensity  of  the  universe  ;  and  who  thus  "  see- 
^^  ing  Him  with  their  eyes,"  learn  to  associate  the 
truths  of  religion  with  all  the  most  valued  emo- 
tions of  their  hearts.  It  is  the  natural  consequence 
of  these  partial  views  of  the  Deity,  to  narrow  our 
conceptions  of  his  being ;  to  cliill  the  native  sensi- 
bility of  our  minds  to  devotion  ;  and  to  render 
religion  rather  the  gloomy  companion  of  the  church 
and  the  closet,  than  the  animating  friend  of  our 
ordinary  hours. 

Reflections  of  this  kind,  my  brethren,  seem  very 
naturally  to  arise  to  us  from  the  season  we  expe- 
rience, and  the  scenes  we  at  present  behold.  In 
the  beautiful  language  of  the  wise  man,  '^  the  win- 
'^  ter  is  now  over  and  gone ;  the  flowers  appear 
"  on  the  earth,  the  time  of  the  singing  of  birds  is 
*'  come,  and  the  voice  of  the  turtle  is  heard  in  our 
"  land." — In  these  moments,  we  are  the  witnesses 


ON  SPRING.  31 

of  the  most  beautiful  and  most  astonishing  specta- 
cle that  nature  ever  presents  to  our  view.  The 
earth,  by  an  annual  miracle,  rises  again,  as  from 
her  grave,  into  life  and  beauty.  A  new  creation 
peoples  the  wintry  desert ;  and  the  voice  of  joy  and 
gladness  is  heard  among  those  scenes  which  but 
of  late  lay  in  silence  and  desolation.  The  sun 
comes  forth,  '''  like  a  bridegroom  from  his  cham- 
"  her,"  to  diffuse  light  and  life  over  every  thing  lie 
beholds  ;  and  the  breath  of  Heaven  seems  to  brood 
with  maternal  love  over  that  infant  creation  it  has 
so  lately  awakened  into  being.  In  such  hours, 
there  is  a  natural  impulse  which  leads  us  to  medi- 
tation and  praise.  We  love  to  go  out  amid  the 
scenery  of  nature,  to  mark  its  progressive  beauty, 
and  to  partake  in  the  new  joy  of  every  thing  that 
lives  ; — and  we  almost  involuntarily  lift  our  eyes 
to  that  Heaven  from  whence  cometh  the  hope  of 
man,  "which  openeth  its  hand,  and  filleth  all 
"  things  with  plenteousness."  Even  upon  the  most 
uncultivated  minds,  these  seasons  have  their  influ- 
ence ;  and  wherever,  over  the  face  of  the  earth, 
the  spring  is  now  returning,  even  amid  nations 
uncheered  by  the  light  of  the  Grospel,  the  poor 
inhabitant  is  yet  every  where  preparing  some  rude 
solemnity,  to  express  the  renewal  of  his  joy,  and 
the  return  of  his  praise.  In  obedience  to  this 
pleasing  instinct  of  religion,  I  shall  endeavour,  at 
present,  to  lay  before  you  some  of  the  reflections 
which  seem  most  fitted  for  this  season,  and  which 


32  ON  SPRING. 

may  be  most  useful  for  the  ends    of  piety  and 
virtue. 

I. — 1.  The  first  reflection  which  the  return  of 
spring  presents  to  us,  is  with  regard  to  the  un- 
changeableness  of  the  power  of  the  Almighty.  We 
learn  from  reason,  and  from  scripture,  that  "  God 
"  is  unchangeable,  as  He  is  eternal :  that  to  his 
"  years  there  is  no  end  ;  that  he  was,  and  is,  and 
"  is  to  come.'^  All  this  is  the  "  hearing  of  the  ear." 
In  the  present  hours  "  our  eyes  may  see  it."  It 
is  but  a  little  time,  when  the  earth  around  us,  lik6^^ 
the  cliaos  from  wliich  it  sprung,  was  without  form 
and  void,  and  when  darkness  dwelt  over  the  face 
of  the  deep.  It  is  now,  as  in  the  astonishing  hour 
of  creation,  lighted  up  into  life  and  order.  The 
great  word  of  existence  has  again  gone  forth ; 
— every  breeze  that  blows  appears  to  call  some 
new  species  of  being  from  the  dark  womb  of  na- 
ture ; — and  every  returning  sun  seems  to  glory, 
with  increasing  splendour,  over  that  progressive 
beauty  which  his  rays  have  awakened.  While 
we  are  witnessing  this  scene  of  wonder,  can  we 
forget,  my  brethren,  that  it  is  but  tlie  yearly  work- 
manship of  God !  In  the  many  thousand  years  that 
have  passed  since  the  beginning  of  time,  the  same 
season  has  annually  been  renewed  ;  and  the  eyes 
of  our  fathers,  and  the  old  time  before  them,  have 
regularly  witnessed  those  displays  of  Omnipotence 
in  which  we  now  rejoice.  They  all  are  gone, — 
they  and  the  generations  which  were  before  them, 


ON  SPRING.  33 

are  now  withdrawn  from  the  light  of  the  sun  into 
the  silence  of  the  grave.  But  tlie  great  Parent  of 
Nature  is  the  same.  To  Him,  and  to  his  power, 
^^  there  is  no  variableness,  nor  shadow  of  turning :" 
He  now  visits  the  earth,  and  blesses  it  with  the 
same  profusion  as  in  its  infant  years ;  and  when  we 
too,  and  our  children,  are  gathered  to  our  fathers ; 
when  the  age  in  which  we  live  shall  be  lost  in  the 
obscurity  of  forgotten  time, — even  then,  the  sea- 
sons of  spring  and  harvest  will  return,  and  the 
voice  of  praise  Avill  be  heard  among  the  dwellings 
of  man. 

2,  The  second  reflection  which  the  return  of 
spring  teaches  us,  is  with  regard  to  the  unchang- 
ing goodness  of  the  Almighty.  This  also,  my 
brethren,  is  a  truth  which  we  learn  by  "  the  hear- 
^^  ing  of  the  ear ;"  but  which  nowhere  can  be  learnt 
with  such  efficacy  and  power,  as  in  those  hours 
when  ^*  our  eyes  may  see  it."  If  there  is  an  in- 
stinct which  leads  us  now  into  the  scenery  of  na- 
ture, it  is  not  only  to  amuse  us  with  a  transitory 
pleasure,  but  to  teach  us  just  and  exalted  concep- 
tions of  "  Him  that  made  us."  In  no  hours  of 
existence  are  the  traces  of  his  love  so  powerfully 
marked  upon  nature,  as  in  the  present.  It  is,  in  a 
peculiar  manner,  the  season  of  happiness.  The 
vegetable  world  is  bursting  into  life,  and  waving 
it  hues,  and  spreading  its  fragrance  around  the 
habitations  of  men.  "  The  desert"  even,  and  "  the 
"  solitary  place  is  glad,  and  the  wilderness  springs 


34  ON  SPRING. 

"  and  blossoms  as  the  rose."     Tlie  animal  world 
is  marked  by  still  deeper  characters  of  happiness. 
Myriads  of  seen,  and  far  greater  myriads  of  unseen 
beings  are  now  rising,  from  every  element,  into 
life,  and  enjoying  their  new-born  existence,  and 
hailing,  with  inarticulate  voice,  the  Power  that 
gave  them  birth.     The  late  desert  of  existence  is 
now  filling  with  animation,    and   every  element 
around  us  is  pregnant  with  life,  and  prodigal  of  joy. 
Is  there  a  time,  my  brethren,  in  which  we  can 
better  learn  the  goodness  of  the  universal  God  ? 
Is  it  not  wise  in  us  to  go  abroad  into  nature,  and 
to  associate  His  name  with  every  thing  that,  at 
this  season,  delights   the    eye,  and  gratifies  the 
heart  ?   And  is  there  any  image  under  which  it  if 
so  useful  for  us  to  figure   '^  him  that  inhabiteth 
'^eternity,"  as  under  that  of  the  Father  of  his 
Creation  ;  as  having  called  every  thing  into  exis- 
tence for  "  his  pleasure ;"  in  communicating  hap- 
piness ;  and  as,  in  these  moments,  listening,  with 
placid  ear,  to  every  articulate  voice  that  speaks 
gratitude,  and  to  every  inarticulate  voice  that  tes- 
tifies joy. 

II.  Such,  my  brethren,  are  some  of  the  reflec- 
tions which  most  naturally  arise  at  this  time,  with 
regard  to  the  great  Mind  and  Parent  of  existence. 
They  are  such  as  every  age,  however  untaught, 
has  felt ;  which  the  wise  of  every  country  have 
cherished ;  and  by  which,  even  amidst  ignorance, 
they  have  been  fully  consoled.     There  are  some 


ON  SPRING.  86 

other  reflections,  wliicli,  at  this  season,  seem  very 
naturally  to  arise  to  us  as  Christians  ;  and  there 
is  a  beautiful  analogy,  which  I  could  earnestly 
wish  to  impress  upon  your  minds,  between  the 
coming  of  the  Gospel,  and  the  arrival  of  the  sea- 
son of  spring.  In  no  respect,  perhaps,  is  our  con- 
duct of  religious  education  more  imperfect,  than 
in  every  thing  that  relates  to  the  system  of  Chris- 
tianity ;  and  there  is  no  light  in  which  it  can  be 
represented  to  the  young,  so  useful  as  that  which 
Unites  it  with  every  thing  that  is  most  exalted  and 
most  beautiful  in  nature. 

1.  The  appearance  of  spring  is  then,  in  the  first 
place,  an  emblem  of  the  Gospel  of  our  Lord,  as  it 
reminds  us  of  the  darkness  and  gloom  by  which 
it  was  preceded.  When  we  look  on  the  state  of 
the  world  before  the  coming  of  Christ,  there  is  no 
image  that  can  more  justly  or  more  forcibly  pic- 
ture it  to  our  minds  than  that  of  the  winter  of  hu- 
manity. It  was  a  season  of  moral  cold  and  dark- 
ness,— when  every  expanding  principle  of  piety 
and  virtue  was  checked  by  ignorance  and  doubt — 
and  when  men  wandered  amid  the  severities  which 
surrounded  them,  uneheered  by  any  eflFiilgence 
from  Heaven.  It  was  a  season  also,  we  may  re- 
member, peopled  with  the  phantoms  of  supersti- 
tion, in  which  every  power  of  darkness  seemed  to 
roam  and  bear  sway,  and  of  which  the  gloom  was 
only  enlightened  by  the  dark  flames  of  a  sangui- 
nary altar.  Such  was  the  winter  of  our  nature, 
until  the  Sou  of  God  came  to  bring  us  light. 


36  ON  SPRING. 

S.  The  appearance  of  spring  isj  therefore,  in  the 
second  place,  an  emblem  of  the  Gospel  of  our 
Lord,  as  it  reminds  us  of  that  light  which  his 
coming  hath  shed  on  all  the  concerns  of  men.  It 
is  in  this  magnificent  and  beautiful  view,  that  the 
Gospel  is  always  predicted  by  the  prophets,  and 
represented  by  the  followers  of  Jesus.  It  is  the 
"  Day-spring  from  on  high,"  which  has  come  to 
visit  us.  It  is  "  the  morning  spread  upon  the 
"mountains."'  It  is  the  Sun  of  Trutli,  which 
shone  upon  those  "  that  sat  in  darkness,  and  in 
"  the  shadow  of"  more  than  mortal  "  death ;"  and 
when  we  look,  accordingly,  on  the  state  of  the 
world  since  the  coming  of  our  Lord,  nothing  can 
more  accurately  resemble  the  influence  and  the  be- 
neficence of  spring.  Wherever  His  religion  has 
spread,  a  new  verdure  (as  it  were)  has  been  given 
to  the  soul  of  man.  Whatever  blesses,  or  what- 
ever adorns  humanity,  has  followed  the  progress 
of  his  doctrines  ;  laws  have  been  improved,  gov- 
ernments enlightened,  manners  refined,  and  the 
mild  and  gentle  virtues  of  humanity  and  peace, 
have  sprung  into  new  life  and  fragrance.  "  Even 
"the  desert,"  (in  the  beautiful  words  of  the  pro- 
phet,) "  and  the  solitary  place  have  been  glad," 
and  in  many  a  "  wilderness"  of  life — in  many  a 
"solitary  place"  of  wo,  where  the  eye  of  man 
comes  not,  the  light  of  Heaven  has  been  revealed, 
and  many  a  flower  of  Faith  and  Hope  have  blown, 
unknown  to  all  but  the  "  Sun  of  Righteousness" 
which  cherished  them. 


ON  SPRING.  Sf 

How  well,  iny  brethren,  would  it  be  for  us  all, 
if,  under  those  great  and  prescribed  images,  we 
represented  to  ourselves  the  Gospel  of  our  Lord ! 
— if,  leaving  for  a  while  the  narrow  and  selfish 
views  of  the  closet,  we  went  forth  into  the  scenes 
which  remind  us  of  the  present  God,  and  saw  in 
every  instance  of  his  beneficence,  an  emblem  of 
the  ^^  glad  tidings"  of  his  Son.  Nature  herself 
would  then  become  the  friend  of  piety.  The 
truths  of  natural,  and  the  truths  of  revealed  reli- 
gion, would  be  blended  together  in  our  hearts ;  and 
every  returning  spring  would  bring  us  with  it  new 
motives  of  love  to  the  God  who  made,  and  to  the 
Saviour  who  redeemed  us. 

In  what  I  have  now  said,  my  brethren,  I  have 
presented  to  you  only  the  religious  reflections 
which  the  season  is  fitted  to  excite.  There  are 
some  other  impressions  of  a  moral  kind,  which  it 
is  also  calculated  to  give  us,  and  which  it  would 
be  wise  in  us  to  associate  with  the  present  appear- 
ances of  nature. 

The  first  of  these  is  the  love  of  innocence.  It 
is  the  youth  of  the  year  we  are  witnessing.  The 
trees  are  putting  forth  their  tender  green  ;  and  the 
fields  are  covered  with  tlieir  young  inhabitants. 
How  well  is  this  spectacle  fitted  to  awaken  every 
thoughtful  mind  to  meditation !  It  reminds  us  of 
our  own  infancy,  when  the  mind  was  pure,  and 
the  heart  was  happy.  It  reminds  us  of  that  origi- 
nal innocence  in  which  man  was  created,  and  for 


38  ON  SPRING. 

the  loss  of  which  no  attainments  of  mortality  can 
make  any  compensation.  It  reminds  us  of  that 
greater  spring  ^'  which  awaits  the  righteous  :  when 
^^  the  pure  in  heart  shall  see  Grod ;  when  the  Lord 
^'  shall  feed  them  like  a  shepherd,  and  lead  them 
^^  to  fountains  of  living  water,  and  when  God  shall 
^'^  wipe  all  tears  from  their  eyes." 

The  second  impression  which  the  season  of 
spring  is  fitted  to  make  upon  us,  is  the  love  of  na- 
ture and  of  humanity.  Tlie  ordinary  scenes  of 
life  have  a  tendency  to  limit  our  benevolence,  and 
to  confine  our  interest  in  nature  to  the  few  that  sur- 
round us.  The  spring  yearly  returns,  as  it  were, 
to  dissolve  this  insensibility,  and  to  expand  our 
affections  to  a  greater  circle.  We  are  then  the 
witnesses  of  the  benevolence  of  God, — the  Father 
of  Nature  seems  to  come  from  the  dark  clouds 
that  surround  his  throne,  to  bestow  life  and  happi- 
ness over  the  universe  of  nature.  "  Hope  riseth 
^^  in  the  heart  of  man;"  and  every  animated  being 
pours  forth  its  song  of  joy.  Is  it  possible  we  can 
contemplate  this  scene,  without  feeling  our  own 
benevolence  exalted?  without  being  reminded 
anew  of  the  ties  which  relate  us  to  all  the  family 
of  God ;  and  without  blending  with  the  love  of 
Him  '^  who  alone  is  good,"  the  love  also  of  every 
thing  that  He  hath  made  ? 

The  last  impression  which  this  season  is  fitted 
to  make  upon  us,  is  that  of  the  love  of  industry. 
It  is  the  time  when  the  great  labour  of  nature  is 


ON  SPRING.  39 

carrying  on;  when  the  breath  of  the  Almighty  is 
operating  upon  the  earth  and  upon  tlie  deep,  "  and 
'^  making  all  tilings  work  together  for  good."  How 
simple,  but  how  solemn  is  the  call  which  this 
scene  makes  upon  man !  We  also,  my  brethren, 
are  parts  of  the  system  of  God :  to  is  all,  some 
share  is  delegated  in  the  administration  of  the  uni- 
verse,— some  power  of  contributing  to  the  happi- 
ness of  the  world  which  he  hath  made.  How  hap- 
py for  us  would  it  be,  if  we  suffered  Nature  to 
teach  us  those  unreproaching  lessons;  if  every 
spring,  as  it  returned,  awakened  us  to  new  zeal 
in  the  service  of  God,  and  kindled  the  noblest  ar- 
dour of  religion,  that  of  being  fellow- workers  with 
him  in  the  good  of  humanity  ! 

I  have  thus  presented  to  you,  my  brethren, 
some  of  the  reflections  which  seem  most  naturally 
to  arise  at  this  season,  and  pointed  out  some  of 
the  uses  to  which  they  may  be  applied.  If  they 
are  not  the  direct  exliortations  of  religion,  they  are 
not  perhaps  less  important.  To  contemplate  na- 
ture with  the  eye  of  piety, — to  associate  the  image 
of  God  with  every  thing  that  is  great  or  beautiful 
in  his  works, — to  see  every  different  scene  around 
us,  as  only  varying  testimonies  of  his  love, — and 
to  feel  those  analogies  which  unite  the  system  of 
Nature  with  that  of  Revelation, — are  acquisitions 
which  every  wise  man  would  wish  to  make,  and 
which  no  man  can  make,  without  becoming  liappi- 
er  and  better. 


40  ON  SPRING. 

May  this,  my  brethren,  be  the  case  with  us  all  I 
May  the  mighty  scene  which  we  are  now  permit- 
ted to  see,  exalt  our  minds  to  legitimate  concep- 
tions of  ^'  that  God  who  inhabiteth  eternity,  and 
"  yet  humbleth  himself  to  behold  the  things  that 
"^  are  upon  f  arth."  And,  while  Heaven  is  pouring 
forth  its  bounty,  and  Nature  rejoicing  around  us, 
may  we  lift  our  hands  in  humble  adoration  to  the 
Parent  of  Existence,  and  feel,  with  the  grateful 
transport  of  Job !  '^  I  have  heard  of  Thee  by  the 
"  hearing  of  the  ear,  but  now  mine  eye   seeth 

"  THEE.'' 


SERMON  III. 


ON  THE  YOUTH  OF  SOLOMON. 


1  Kings  hi.  7,  Sic. 

*'  Aiid  Solomon  said  :  And  now  O  Lord  my  God !  Thou  hast  made 

thy  servant  king  instead  of  David  my  father  ;  and  I  am  but  a  little 

child  :  I  know  not  how  to  go  out  and  to  come  in. 
*' Give,  therefore,  thy  servant  an  understanding  heart  to  judge  thy 

people,  that  1  may  discern  between  good  and  bad,  for  who  is  able 

to  judge  this  so  great  a  people  ? 
"  And  the  speech  pleased  the  Lord,  that  SolomoD  had  asked  this 

thing." 

These  words  are  part  of  that  celebrated  prayer 
in  which  Solomon  is  represented  as  addressing 
liimself  to  "God  on  his  accession  to  tlie  throne  of 
Israel.  The  form  of  the  book  in  which  it  is  rela- 
ted, permits  it  only  to  be  considered  as  a  fact  in 
the  history  of  his  reign,  and  necessarily  leaves  the 
sentiments  and  disposition  which  led  to  this  beau- 
tiful address,  to  the  imagination  of  the  reader  to 
supply.  But  in  the  apocryphal  book  of  his  wis- 
dom,  it  is  related  at  much  greater  length ;  and 
represents  the  feelings  and  character  of  the  author, 
with  a  simplicity  which  is  singularly  affecting,  and 
with  an  eloquence  which  cannot  be  too  much  ad- 
6 


42  OJV  THE  YOtTH 

mired.  It  opens  with  a  very  beaiitifal  descriptiou 
of  the  character  and  eifects  of  wisdom,  and  of  the 
early  admiration  which  it  had  excited  in  his  mirid. 

"Now,  when  I  considered  these  things,"  says 
he,  "by  myself,  and  pondered  it  in  mine  heart,  how 
^^  that  to  be  joined  to  wisdom  is  immortality,  and 
^^  great  pleasure  in  her  friendship,  and  glory  by 
"  communing  with  her,  I  went  about  seeking  how 
"  I  might  take  her  unto  me.  Nevertheless,  when  I 
''  perceived  that  I  could  not  enjoy  her,  except  God 
^^  gave  her  me,  I  went  unto  the  Lord  and  besought 
^^  Him,  and  with  my  whole  heart  I  said, 

"  O  !  God  of  ray  Fathers,  and  Lord  of  Mercy, 
<^  who  hath  made  all  things  by  thy  word,  and  or- 
^'  dained  man  through  thy  wisdom,  that  he  should 
^^  have  dominion  over  the  creatures  which  Thou 
"  hast  made,  and  govern  the  world  according  to 
^'  equity,  and  execute  judgment  with  an  upright 
'^  heart,  give  me  that  wisdom  which  sitteth  by  thy 
^^  throne,  and  put  me  not  out  from  among  thy  chil- 
"  dren ;  and  send  lior  out  of  thy  holy  Heavens,  and 
"  from  the  throne  of  thy  Majesty,  that  she  may 
'^  dwell  with  me,  and  that  I  may  know  what  is  plea- 
^f  sing  unto  Thee.  So  shall  my  works  be  accepta- 
ii  ble, — so  shall  I  govern  thy  people  righteously, 
"  and  be  meet  for  my  father's  throne.'^ 

There  is  not,  perhaps,  in  the  history  of  mankind, 
a  more  beautiful  picture  than  that  which  is  here 
represented  : — A  young  man  in  the  bloom  of  life, 
when  every  thing  was  gay  and  alluring  around 
him, — in  the  moment  of  ascending  to  a  throne. 


OF  SOLOMON.  43 

when  pleasure  and  ambition  were  before  bim,  and 
eastern  servility,  witb  its  wonted  adulation,  told 
bim,  that  all  thin2;s  were  in  his  hand, — betaking 
himself  thus  humbly  to  his  God,  and  implorini^  of 
Him  that  wisdom  wliicli  mi2;ht  enable  him  to  re- 
sist the  temptations  witii  which  his  situation  sur- 
rounded him,  and  to  fulfil  the  duties  to  which  he 
was  called.  Had  it  been  in  the  latter  periods  of 
his  reie;n,  when  satiated  with  pleasure,  and  dis- 
appr.'uted  in  ambition, — when  fatis;ued  with  the 
cares  and  pageantry  of  a  throne,  he  looked  abroad 
for  better  comforts, — had  it  been  at  such  a  time 
that  Solomon  had  directed  his  soul  to  Heaven, 
much  of  the  merit  of  his  piety  would  have  been 
lost.  It  would  have  t!ieu  appeared  only  as  the 
last  refu£;e  of  a  discontented  mind,  which  interest, 
not  disposition,  had  led  to  devotion  ;  and  which 
sou2;ht  only  for  repose  in  piety,  when  it  had  been 
disappointed  in  every  thin^  else.  But  at  such  a 
season,  to  be  guided  by  such  sentiments, — in  such 
an  hour  to  betake  himself  to  God, — bespeaks  a 
mind  so  humble  and  yet  so  pure  ;  a  disposition  so 
ardently  and  yet  so  rightly  inclined;  and  a  soul 
so  well  fitted  for  every  kind  of  excellence,  that 
no  language  of  praise  seems  too  great  for  its 
desert. 

It  i«  not,  however,  from  the  peculiar  situation 
of  Solomon,  that  the  beauty  of  this  memorable 
instance  of  devotion  arises.  The  charm  of  it 
chiefly  consists  in  its  suitableness  to  the  season  of 


44  ON  THE  YOUTH 

youth  ;  in  its  coiTespondence  to  the  character  and 
dispositions  which  distinguish  that  important  a§e  ; 
and  which  no  length  of  acquaintance  with  the 
world  prevents  us  from  wishing  to  find  in  the 
young.  In  all  situations,  indeed,  of  human  life, 
piety-  is  the  duty  and  the  interest  of  mankind  : 
but  in  youth,  it  has  something  singularly  graceful 
and  becoming  ;  something  which  ever  disposes  us 
to  think  w  ell  of  the  mind  in  which  it  is  found  ; 
and  which,  better  than  all  the  other  attainments 
of  life,  appears  to  promise  honour  and  happiness 
in  future  days. 

It  is  suited,  in  the  first  place,  we  think,  to  the 
opening  of  human  life, — to  that  interesting  season, 
when  nature  in  all  its  beauty  first  opens  on  the 
view,  and  when  the  wisdom  and  goodness  of  the 
Almighty  fall  on  the  heart,  unmingled  and  unim- 
paired. It  is  suited,  in  the  next  place,  to  the 
nature  of  youthful  imagination  j  to  that  love  of 
excellence  and  perfection  which  nothing  mortal 
ever  can  realize,  and  which  can  find  only  in  the 
truths  of  religion,  the  objects  of  which  it  is  in 
search.  It  is  suited  still  more,  perhaps,  to  the 
tenderness  of  young  aifections  ;  to  that  sensibility 
which  every  instance  of  goodness  can  move  ;  and 
to  that  warm  and  generous  temper  which  meets 
every  where  with  the  objects  of  its  gratitude  or 
love.  But,  most  of  all,  it  is"  suited,  in  our  opinion, 
to  the  innocence  of  the  youthful  mind,  to  that 
sacred  and  sinless  purity  which  can  lift  its  unpol- 


OF  SOLOMON.  "^'5 

luted  hands  to  Heaven ;  which  guilt  hath  not  yet 
torn  from  conlidenee  and  hope  in  God;  and  which 
can  look  heyond  tlie  world  to  that  society  of  kin- 
dred  spirits,  "  of  whom  is  the  kingdom  of  Hea- 
ven." The  progress  of  lii^^,  we  know,  may  bring 
other  acquisitions  ;  it  may  strengthen  religion  by 
experience,  and  add  knowledge  to  faith  :  But  the 
piety  which  springs  only  from  the  heart,— the 
devotion  which  nature,  and  not  reasoning  inspires, 
—the  pure  homage  which  flows  unbidden  from 
the  tongue,  and  which  asks  no  other  motive  for 
its  payment  than  the  pleasures  which  it  bestows, — 
these  are  the  possessions  of  youth,  and  of  youth 

alone. 

The  feelings  of  piety,  however,  are  not  only 
natural  and  becoming  in  youth  ;  tliey  are  still  more 
valuable,  as  tending  to  the  formation  of  future 
character  ;  as  aflbrding  the  best  and  noblest  school 
in  which  the  mind  may  be  trained  to  whatever  is 
great  or  good  in  human  nature.  1  shall,  at  present, 
endeavour  to  illustrate  some  of  the  important  con- 
sequences which,  in  this  respect,  follow  from 
youthful  piety. 

That  tlie  convictions  of  religion  form  the  great  . 
foundation  of  moral  conduct,— that  piety,  in  itself, 
is  fitted  to  exalt  the  human  mind  to  its  greatest 
degree  of  virtuous  perfection, — are  truths  which 
every  one  acknowledges,  and  which  the  experience 
of  nrankind  suTiciently  proves.— But  the  misfortune 
is,  that,  in  general,  religion  ii  acquired  too  late  in 


46  ON  THE  YOUTH 

life,  to  produce  all  the  effects  on  the  mind  which  it 
is  fitted  to  have,  and  when,  instead  of  forming 
the  character,  it  is  itself  formed  by  it.  The  habits 
of  worldly  pursuit  have,  ere  tliis  period  occurs, 
contracted  the  mind  to  narrow  vicAvs,  ancT'SOrdid 
occupations.  The  ambition,  which  once  grasped 
at  excellence,  and  which  thou2;ht  no  honours  were 
impossible  to  be  obtained  in  the  conflict  of  human 
life,  has.  ere  this,  expired  under  the  daily  pressure 
of  trivial  cares,  and  the  daily  demand  of  unimpor- 
tant exertions.  The  testimony  of  conscience  has, 
long  before  now,  armed  the  Deity  with  terrour,  and 
extinguished  all  the  fascinating  views  which  immor- 
tality affords,  in  the  gloom  with  which  it  now  is 
covered.  At  such  a  period  of  life,  religion  is  em- 
braced, rather  because  it  is  necessary,  than  because 
it  is  pleasing.  It  is  an  occasional,  rather  than 
a  permanent  affection, — which  comes  rather  to 
console  the  hours  of  distress,  when  every  other 
comfort  leaves  us,  than  to  influence  the  general 
thoughts,  and  animate  the  general  conduct.  To 
most  men,  accordingly,  the  best  effects  of  religion 
are  altogether  unknown.  It  mingles  not  in  their 
daily  pursuits,  nor  softens  their  usual  duty.  It  is 
banished  from  their  thoughts  in  the  days  of  hap- 
piness and  tranquillity,  and  is  sought  after  only 
when  misfortunes  press,  or  diseases  alarm.  It 
possesses,  therefore,  only  a  negative  effect  on 
their  conduct  or  character.  It  intimidates  them, 
perhaps,   from   great  violations   of  duty, — but  it 


OF  SOLOMON.  47 

stimulates  tliera  to  no  positive  virtue.  It  tciTitics 
tlieiu  by  tlie  prospect  of  punislimeiits, — but  it  ex- 
cites tliem  to  no  ambition  of  doing  well.  It  is  a 
slavish  and  a  timid  service,  and  not  **  the  glorious 
^^  liberty  of  the  sons  of  God." 

The  piety  which  is  formed  in  youth  has  a  dif- 
ferent character,  and  leads  to  very  difl'erent  effects. 
It  springs  in  the  first  and  purest  state  of  the  human 
mind,  when  the  soul  comes  fresh  from  the  hands 
of  its  Creator,  and  when  no  habits  of  life  have 
contracted  the  reach  of  its  powers.  It  comes  in 
that  happy  season,  when  life  is  new,  and  hope  un- 
broken ;  when  nature  seems  every  where  to  rejoice 
around,  and  when  the  love  of  God  rises  unbidden 
in  the  soul.  It  comes  not,  then,  to  terrify  or  to 
alarm,  but  to  afford  every  high  and  pleasing  pro- 
spect in  which  the  heart  can  indulge, — to  with- 
draw the  veil  which  covers  the  splendours  of  the 
eternal  mind, — to  open  that  futurity  which  awak- 
ens all  their  desires  to  behold,  and,  in  the  sublime 
occupations  of  which  they  feel  already,  as  by  some 
secret  inspiration,  the  home  and  destiny  of  their 
souls.  At  such  a  period,  religion  is  not  a  service 
of  necessity,  but  of  joy.  It  is  not  an  occasional, 
but  a  permanent  subject  of  meditation, — a  subject 
which  can  fill  their  solitary  hours  with  rapture ; 
which  involuntarily  occurs  to  them  in  every  sea- 
son, when  their  hearts  are  disposed  to  feel ;  and 
to  which  they  willingly  return  from  all  the  disap- 
pointments or  follies  of  life,  and  resume  again 
their  uublemished  joys. 


48  ON  THE  YOUTH 

If  there  be  a  moment  in  hnman  life,  in  which 
the  foundation  of  virtuous  character  can  be  laid,  it 
is  at  this  period.  If  there  be  a  discipline  which 
can  call  forth  every  nobler  faculty  of  the  soul,  it 
is  such  early  exercises  of  piety.  They  establish 
a  tone  and  character  of  thought,  which  is  allied 
to  every  virtuous  purpose.  They  present  those 
views  of  man,  and  of  the  ends  of  his  being,  which 
awaken  the  best  powers  of  the  soul.  They  afford 
those  prospects  of  the  Providence  of  God,  which 
can  best  give  support  and  confidence  to  virtue. 

1.  The  first  advantage  of  youthful  piety  is,  that 
it  tends  to  establish  that  tone  and  character  of 
thought  which  is  allied  to  every  virtuous  purpose. 
There  is  no  man  perhaps,  who,  in  some  fortunate 
moments  of  thought,  has  not  felt  his  mind  raised 
above  its  usual  state,  by  religious  considerations. 
There  are  hours  in  every  man's  life,  when  religion 
seems  to  approach  him  in  all  her  radiance ;  when 
its  truths  break  upon  his  mind  with  a  force  which 
cannot  be  resisted  ;  and  when,  in  the  contempla- 
tion of  them,  he  feels  his  bosom  swell  with  emo- 
tions of  unusual  delight.  In  such  moments,  every 
man  feels  the  dignity  and  the  purity  of  his  mind 
increased ;  the  illusions  and  the  temptations  of 
the  world  appear  beneath  his  regard  ;  his  heart 
opens  to  nobler  and  purer  affections,  and  his 
bosom  regains  for  a  while  its  native  innocence. 
In  the  greater  part  of  mankind,  however,  these 
moments  are  transient :  life  calls  them  back  again 


OP  SOLOMON.  49 

to  their  usual  couccrns — tlie  liabits  of  usual 
tliou5;lit  retuni, — and  tliey  relapse  again  into  all 
the  folly  and  weakness  of  ordinary  conduct.  It 
is  the  tendency  of  early  piety,  on  the  contrary,  to 
fix  this  character  of  tiu)up;lit,  and  of  emotion, — to 
render  that  temper  of  mind  permanent,  which  in 
most  men  is  only  temporary  and  transient.  By 
the  great  objects  to  which  it  directs  the  minds  of 
the  young  ;  by  its  precedence  to  every  other  sys- 
tem of  opinions  which  might  oppose  its  influence ; 
by  its  power  to  arrest  and  retain  their  attention,  it 
tends  gradually  to  establish  in  the  soul  a  corres- 
pondent dignity  in  every  other  exercise.  While 
yet  the  world  is  unknown,  and  the  calm  morning 
of  life  is  undisturbed  by  passions,  it  awakens  de- 
sires of  a  nobler  kind  than  the  usual  pursuits  of 
life  can  gratify,  and  forms  in  secret  those  habits 
of  elevated  thought,  which  are,  of  all  others,  the 
most  valuable  acquisitions  of  youthful  years  ;  and 
which,  whether  in  the  pursuits  of  action  or  of 
speculation,  fit  it  for  future  attainments  in  truth 
and  virtue,  beyond  the  reach  of  ordinary  men. 

2.  It  is  a  second  advantage  of  early  piety,  that 
it  presents  those  views  of  man,  and  of  the  ends  of 
his  being,  which  call  forth  the  best  powers  of  our 
nature.  We  naturally  accommodate  our  acquisi- 
tions to  the  opinions  we  entertain  of  the  scene  in 
which  they  are  to  be  employed,  and  to  the  expec- 
tations that  are  formed  with  regard  to  us. 
7 


50  ON  THE   YOLFTM 

It  is  lience  that  the  different  situations  of  human 
life  produce  so  great  diversities  of  character  and 
of  improvement.  The  poor  man,  whose  life  is  to 
pass  in  obscurity,  and  on  whose  humble  fortunes 
the  regard  and  observation  of  the  world  is  never 
to  fall,  is  seldom  solicitous  to  distinguish  himself 
by  any  other  acquisitions  than  those  wliich  are 
suited  to  the  humility  of  his  station,  and  which 
the  exigencies  of  his  situation  demand  of  him. 
The  great  and  the  opulent,  on  the  contrary,  who 
are  born  to  be  the  objects  of  observation  and  at- 
tention, feel  themselves  called  upon  to  suit  their 
ambition  to  the  opinions  of  mankind  ;  and,  if  they 
have  the  common  spirit  of  men,  usually  endeavour 
to  accommodate  themselves  to  these  expectations. 

It  is  in  this  manner  that  the  piety  of  early  life 
has  an  influence  in  forming  the  future  character. 
It  represents  man  in  colours  which  afford  the  most 
dignified  aspect  of  his  nature.  It  represents  him 
as  "  formed  in  the  image  of  God,"  as  but  a  little 
lower  "  than  the  angels,"  and  as  crowned  with 
glory  and  honour.  It  represents  life,  not  as  the 
short  and  fleeting  space  of  temporary  being,  but 
as  the  preparation  only  for  immortal  existence  ; 
as  a  theatre,  on  which  he  is  called  to  act  in  the 
sight  of  his  Saviour  and  his  God,  and  of  which 
the  rewards  exceed  even  the  power  of  his  imagi- 
nation to  conceive.  It  represents  all  this,  too,  in 
the  season  when  no  lower  passions  have  taken  the 
dominion  of  his  heart,  and  when  his  powers  are 


OF  SOLOMON.  51 

all  susceptible  of  beiiis;  moulded  by  the  ends 
which  are  placed  before  him.  In  such  views  of 
man,  all  the  best  qualities  of  his  nature  arise  in- 
voluntarily  in  the  soul ; — the  Benevolence  which 
burns  to  diifuse  happiness,  and  to  he,  a  fellow 
worker  with  Crod  in  the  designs  of  his  providence 
— the  Fortitude,  which  no  obstacles  can  retard, 
and  no  dangers  can  appal  in  the  road  of  immor- 
tality— the  Constancy,  which,  reposing  in  the 
promises  of  Heaven,  presses  forward  in  the  path 
of  strenuous  and  persevering  virtue.  Such  views 
also  have  the  tendency  to  fortify  the  mind  against 
all  those  narrow  and  unjust  conceptions  of  life, 
which  are  the  source  of  the  greatest  part  of  tiie 
follies  and  w^eakness  of  mankind.  They  level 
all  those  vain  distinctions  among  men,  which,  in 
one  class  of  society,  are  productive  of  oppression 
and  of  pride,  and  in  the  other  of  baseness  and 
servility.  They  silence  that  feeble  and  complain- 
ing spirit  which  is  so  often  mistaken  for  sensibility 
and  superiour  feeling,  and  whicli,  from  whatever 
cause  it  springs, gradually  poisons  the  source  of  hu- 
man happiness,  and  undermines  the  foundation  of 
every  real  virtue.  They  dispel  those  dark  and  un- 
generous views  of  man,  and  of  his  capacity  for  hap- 
piness and  virtue,  which  are  in  general  only  the 
excuses  for  our  own  indolence  or  selfishness,  and 
which,  wherever  they  have  prevailed,  have  so  often 
withheld  the  arm  that  was  made  to  bless,  and  si- 
lenced the  voice  that  was  destined  to  enlighten 


52  ON  THE  YOUTH 

them.  ^^  Whatsoever  thhigs  are  just,  whatsoever 
"  things  are  pure,  whatsoever  things  are  lovely  antl 
'^  of  good  report," — these  are  the  objects  at  which 
the  spirit  of  early  piety  forms  the  mind  to  aim, — 
wherever,  by  the  production  of  happiness.  Virtue 
is  to  be  acquired,  or,  by  the  performance  of  duty, 
Praise  is  to  be  won. 

8.  It  is  the  last  advantage  of  early  piety,  that  it 
affords  those  views  of  the  providence  of  God, 
which  can  best  give  support  and  confidence  to 
conduct.  There  is  a  natural  belief  in  mankind  of 
the  connexion  between  prosperity  and  virtue ;  and 
there  is  an  instinctive  hope,  that  the  laws  of  the 
divine  administration  have  prepared  happiness  for 
the  righteous.  If  it  is  from  life,  however,  that  we 
judge,  a  variety  of  appearances  occur  at  first  to 
perplex  our  understandings.  Here,  as  of  old, 
'^  the  race  is  not  to  the  swift,  nor  the  battle  to  the 
^*  strong,  neither  yet  bread  to  the  wise,  nor  riches  to 
^^  men  of  understanding,  nor  favour  to  men  of  skill, 
^^  but  time  and  chance  happen  unto  them  all.'' — No 
permanent  law  seems  to  regulate  the  course  of  hu- 
man affairs,  and  no  just  hand  appears  to  distribute 
the  balance  of  good  and  evil.  A  broken  and  im- 
perfect system  only  appears,  in  which  all  things 
happen  alike  to  all,  and  fortune  disposes  at  plea- 
sure of  the  blessings  and  miseries  of  humanity. 
To  such  vulgar  views  of  Nature  and  Providence^ 
the  commerce  of  life,  and  the  habits  of  attention  to 
temporal  pursuits,  too  naturally  lead :  and  hence 


OF  SOLOMON.  53 

it  is,  that  we  so  often  find  the  pious  and  the  wise 
themselves,  to  whom  religion  ought  to  have  taught 
better  things,  complaining  under  the  unequal  dis- 
tribution, and  nourishing  in  tlieir  hearts  those 
secret  murmurs  against  Providence,  which  unnerve 
every  virtuous  purpose  of  the  soul,  aud  cover  reli- 
gion itself  in  gloom  and  melancholy.  It  is  the 
piety  of  youthful  days  which  can  aflbrd  the  best 
preservative  against  these  dark  and  unjust  concep- 
tions. Before  the  experience  of  life  has  made  any 
impression  on  their  mintls, — before  they  descend 
into  the  ''  wilderness"  through  whicii  they  are  to 
travel,  it  shows  them  from  afar  the  "  promised 
^'  land.''  It  carries  their  view  to  the  whole  course 
of  their  being,  and,  while  no  narrow  objects  have 
yet  absorbed  their  desires,  shews  them  its  termi- 
nation in  another  scene,  in  which  the  balance  of 
good  and  evil  will  be  adjusted  by  the  unerring 
hand  of  God.  Under  such  views  of  nature,  the 
system  of  Divine  Providence  appears  in  all  its 
majesty  and  beauty.  Beginning  here,  in  the  feeble 
and  imperfect  state  of  man,  it  spreads  itself  out 
into  forms  of  ascending  being,  in  which  the  heart 
expands,  while  it  contemplates  them  ;  aud  closes 
at  last  in  scenes  which  are  obscured  only  from  the 
excess  of  their  splendour.  With  such  conceptions 
of  their  nature,  life  meets  the  young  in  its  real 
colours  ; — not  as  the  idle  abode  of  effeminate 
pleasure,  but  as  the  school  in  which  their  souls 
are  formed  to  great  attainments ; — not  as  the  soft 


54  ON  THE  YOUTH 

shade  in  which  every  manly  and  honourable  quali- 
ty is  to  dissolve,  but  as  the  field  in  which  glory, 
and  honour,  and  immortality  are  to  be  won. 
Whatever  may  be  the  aspect  which  it  may  assume, 
— whatever  the  scenes  in  which  they  are  called 
to  act,  or  to  suifer, — the  promises  of  God  still 
brighten  in  their  view  ;  and  their  souls,  deriving 
strength  from  trial,  and  confidence  from  experi- 
ence, settle  at  last  in  that  humble  but  holy  spirit 
of  resignation,  which,  when  rightly  understood, 
comprehends  the  sum  of  religion  ;  which,  reposing 
itself  in  undoubting  faith  in  the  wisdom  of  God, 
accepts,  not  only  witli  content,  but  with  cheerful- 
ness, of  every  dispensation  of  his  Providence  ; 
which  seeks  no  other  end  than  to  fulfil  its  part  iu 
His  government ;  and  which,  knowing  its  own 
weakness  and  his  perfection,  yields  up  all  its  de- 
sires into  His  hand,  and  asks  only  to  know  Hi« 
laws,  and  to  do  his  will. 

Such  are  the  natural  effects  of  youthful  piety 
upon  the  formation  of  human  character;  yet  there 
is  one  advantage  of  it  to  be  mentioned  still  greater 
than  all ;  I  mean,  the  hope  which  it  affords  of  the 
favour  of  God,  and  of  the  assistance  of  his  Holy 
Spirit. 

^*  Now  the  prayer  of  Solomon  pleased  the  Lord 
"  that  he  had  asked  this  thing.  And  G  od  said 
"  unto  him,  Because  thou  hast  asked  this  thing, 
•'^and  hast  not  asked  for  thyself  long  life,  neither 
"  hast  asked  riches  for  thyself,  nor  hast  asked  th« 


OF  S0L03I0N.  55 

*niie  of  thine  enemies,  hut  hast  asked  for  thyself 
" understanding  to  discern  judgment:  Eehold,  I 
'^have  done  according  unto  tliy  words. — Lo  I 
<*have  given  thee  a  wise  and  understanding  heart : 
"so  that  there  was  none  like  thee  hefore  thee, 
"  neither  after  thee  shall  any  arise  like  unto  thee. — 
"  And  I  have  also  given  tliee  that  which  thou 
*^  hast  not  asked,  both  riches  and  honour,  so  that 
"there  shall  not  be  any  among  the  kings  like  unto 
"  thee  all  thy  days.''  In  every  part  of  scripture, 
in  tlie  same  manner,  it  is  remarkable  with  what 
singular  tenderness  the  season  of  youth  is  always 
mentioned,  and  what  hopes  are  afl'orded  to  the 
devotion  of  tlie  young.  It  was  at  that  age  that 
God  appeared  unto  Moses  when  he  fed  his  flock 
in  the  desert,  and  called  him  to  the  command  of 
his  own  people. — It  was  at  that  age  he  visited  tiie 
infant  Samuel,  while  he  ministered  in  the  temple 
of  the  Lord,  "  in  days  when  the  word  of  the  Lord 
"  was  precious,  and  when  there  was  no  open 
*' vision.'* — It  was  at  that  age  that  his  spirit  fell 
upon  David,  while  he  was  yet  the  youngest  of  his 
father's  sons,  and  when  among  the  mountains  of 
Beihlehem  he  fed  his  father's  sheep. — It  Avas  at 
that  age,  also,  "  that  they  brought  young  children 
*'  unto  Christ  that  he  should  touch  them  :  And  his 
*' disciples  rebuked  those  that  brought  them  :  But 
"when  Jesus  saw  it,  he  was  much  displeased, 
"  and  said  to  them.  Suffer  the  little  children  to 
*^  come  unto  me,  and  forbid  them  not,  for  of  such 
<^  is  the  kingdom  of  Heaven.'^ 


56  ox  THE  YOUTH 

If  t)ic«:(\  thou,  are  the  effects  aiul  piYnnises  of 
Touthful  piety,  ivjoice.  O  yoiins:  "lan  I  in  thy  youth, 
— rejoice  iu  those  clays  whicli  aiT  never  to  return, 
when  reliirion  comes  to  thee  in  all  its  charms,  and 
when  tlie  Gt>d  of  Xature  reveals  himself  to  thy 
soul,  like  the  mild  radiance  of  the  morniui;  sun, 
when  he  rises  amid  the  blcssin£;s  of  a  2;rateful 
world.  If  already  devotion  hath  taui^ht  thee  her 
secret  pleasures : — if.  when  Nature  meets  thee 
in  all  its  mas:nificence  or  l>eauty.  thy  heart  hiim- 
Meth  itself  in  adoration  before  the  hand  which 
made  it.  and  rejoiceth  in  the  contemplation  of  tl.e 
wisdom  by  which  it  is  maintained : — if.  whcu 
revelation  unveils  her  mercies,  and  the  Sou  of 
God  comes  forth  to  i;ive  peace  and  hope  to  fiUleu 
man.  thine  eye  follows  with  astonishment  the 
glories  of  his  path,  and  pours  at  last  over  his 
cross  those  pious  tears  which  it  is  a  delis;ht  to 
shed: — if  thy  soul  accompanieth  him  in  his  tri- 
um]ih  over  the  srave.  and  entcreth  on  the  wings 
of  faith  into  that  Heaven  ^»  where  he  sat  down  at 
"  the  right  hand  of  the  Majesty  on  High,"  and 
seeth  the  ^'society  of  angels  and  of  the  spirits  of  just 
'^  men  made  perfect,*-  and  listeneth  to  the  ^*  ever 
^*  lasting:  song  which  is  sung  before  the  throue  :" — 
If  such  are  the  meditations  in  w  hich  thy  youthful 
hours  are  passed,  renouuce  not,  for  all  that  life  can 
offer  thee  in  exchange,  these  solitary  joys.  The 
world  which  is  before  thee. — the  world  which 
thine  imagiuaiion  paints  in  such  brightuess, — has 


OK  HOL/JMO.V  i7 

no  pleasures  to  bestow  which  can  compare  with 
these.  And  all  that  itn  boasted  wisdom  can  pro- 
duce, has  notliini;  so  acceptable  in  the  sight  of 
Heaven,  as  this  pure  oflerini;  of  thy  infant  soul. 

In  these  days  ^'  the  Lord  himself  is  thy  shep- 
"herd,  and  thou  dost  not  want.  Amid  tlie  green 
^'  pastures,  and  by  the  still  waters"  of  youth,  he 
now  makes  "thy  soul  to  repose."  But  the  years 
draw  nigh,  when  life  shall  call  thee  to  its  trials  ; 
the  evil  days  are  on  the  wing,  w  hen  '^  thou  shalt 
"  say  thou  hast  no  pleasure  in  them;"  and,  as  thy 
steps  advance,  "  the  valley  of  the  shadow  of  death 
"  opens,"  through  w  hich  thou  must  pass  at  last. 
It  is  then  thou  shalt  know  what  it  is  to  '•  remera- 
"  ber  thy  Creator  in  the  days  of  thy  youth."  la 
these  days  of  trial  or  of  awe,  "  his  spirit  shall  be 
"with  you,"  and  thou  shalt  fear  no  ill;  and, 
amid  every  evil  which  surrounds  you,  "  he  shall 
"'  restore  thy  soul. — His  goodness  and  mercy 
"shall  follow  thee  all  the  days  of  thy  life;"  and 
when  at  last  "  the  silver  cord  is  loosed,  thy  spirit 
"  shall  return  to  the  God  w  ho  gave  it,  and  thou 
"  shalt  dwell  in  the  house  of  the  Lord  for  ever." 


SERMON  IV. 

ON  THE  GENERAL  FAST,  ISOl.-^ 

Proverbs  xix.  21. 

"  There  are  many  devices  in  man's  heart ;  nevertheless  the  counsel 
of  the  Lord,  that  shall  stand." 

The  calamities  of  the  social  world  have  assem- 
bled us  in  the  House  of  God,  to  humble  ourselves 
before  his  eternal  throne ;  to  call  our  past  ways  to 
remembrance ;  and  to  implore  his  protection  in 
the  year  that  is  to  come,  upon  our  councils  and 
our  arms.  Since  the  people  of  this  country  last 
met  upon  a  similar  occasion,  the  hopes  of  patriot- 
ism, and  the  wishes  of  humanity,  have  alike  been 
vain.  The  giant  power  which  has  arisen  in  the 
midst  of  the  civilized  world  to  mock  the  calcula- 
tions of  human  wisdom,  has,  within  that  short  pe- 
riod, matured  its  strength,  and  expanded  its  do- 
minion. Wherever  his  arms  have  turned,  empires 
have  shrunk  before  them ;    and  many  thousands  of 

*  Preached  after  the  peace  of  Luneville  had  terminated  the  war  on  the  Con- 
tinent, and  when  the  Frencli  armies  were  assembling  professedly  for  the  invasioH 
of  England. 


ON  THE  GENERAL  FAST,  1801.  59 

the  human  race,  who,  in  tlie  year  that  is  past,  met 
this  day  in  youtli  and  joy,  have  since  poured  tlieir 
blood  to  cement  the  fabrick  of  his  despotick  throne. 

In  the  openini;  of  a  new  season,  when  all  tlie 
calamities  of  war  are  to  be  renewed, —  when  the 
avenging  angel  pauses  only  for  a  time,  tiiat  he  may 
collect  new  force,  and  renovated  vigour, — and 
when  the  hearts  of  men  wait  in  a  dead  calm  *^  for 
those  "  things  that  are  coming  upon  the  earth," 
there  is  an  instinct,  superiour  to  wisdom,  which 
leads  us  to  follow  the  multitude  into  the  House  of 
God,  and  to  seek  that  support  from  the  Hand  of 
Heaven,  which  we  have  so  long  failed  to  find  from 
that  of  man. 

It  is  in  general  a  very  narrow  and  a  very  selfish 
view  of  the  Divine  government  of  the  world  which 
we  take,  when  we  consider  it  only  as  the  inhabi- 
tants of  any  particular  country.  In  such  an  aspect, 
we  almost  involuntarily  consider  it  as  relating 
only  to  ourselves.  The  rest  of  mankind,  with  all 
their  rights  and  all  their  interests,  are  thrown  into 
shade  ;  and  we  consider  our  own  nation,  and  our 
own  interests,  as  the  sole  centre  from  which  all 
our  duties  and  all  our  wishes  are  to  arise.  We 
consider,  still  more,  perhaps,  the  existence  of  our 
country  as  limited  by  our  own  ;  and,  forgetting  the 
age  and  stability  of  nations,  we  exult  in  momen- 
tary victory,  or  tremble  at  momentary  defeat,  with 
the  same  feeble  levity  with  which  we  usually  re- 
gard the  transient  scenes  of  private  life. 


e»  ON  THE  GENERAL  FAST,  1801. 

It  is  to  correct  this  fatal  weakness,  and  to  create 
a  firmer  and  a  more  elevated  tone  of  mind,  that 
days  like  these  are  wisely  appointed.  When,  upon 
occasions  like  the  present,  we  enter  this  house, 
it  is  supposed  that  we  leave  the  world  behind  us  ; 
— that  we  raise  ourselves  from  common  to  reli- 
gious contemplation  ; — that,  from  the  darkness 
around  us,  we  come  to  consult  the  oracles  of  God ; 
— and  that  we  prepare  our  minds  to  obey  the  will 
of  Him  who  is  the  beginning  of  existence  and  the 
end,  and  who  alone,  in  the  universe  of  nature, 
*^  was,  and  is,  and  is  to  come." 

If  such,  my  brethren,  be  the  high  sentiment 
with  which  you  meet  this  day,  I  know  not  that,  in 
the  whole  compass  of  human  life,  there  is  a  day  of 
greater  sublimity  or  elevation.  While  the  world 
is  resounding  with  the  noise  of  war  and  of  sorrow, 
it  is  inexpressibly  affecting  to  be  privileged  to  en- 
ter into  the  sanctuary  of  God  ; — to  feel  that,  amid 
all  this  disorder,  there  is  yet  a  ^^  counsel  which 
^^  shall  stand,"  and  that,  from  the  guilt  of  man,  there 
is  an  appeal  which  the  human  heart  is  autliorized 
to  make  to  the  justice  of  God.  In  such  medita- 
tions, we  are  raised  from  the  confusions  of  Earth, 
to  the  order  of  Heaven ; — we  lose  the  remembrance 
of  our  own  days  and  our  own  prejudices ; — we 
turn  our  eyes  back  to  the  ages  that  are  past,  and 
the  times  that  have  been  long  before  us  ; — and, 
while  we  seat  ourselves,  in  imagination,  among 
the  ruins  of  former  nations,  and  indulge  a  melan- 


ON  THE  GENERAL  FAST,  1801.  61 

choly  pleasure  in  contemplating  their  history  and 
their  decay,  we  see  the  finger  of  religion  pointing 
to  the  solemn  inscription  which  is  written  on  all 
their  tombs  :  "  There  arc  many  devices  in  man's 
"  heart ;  but  the  counsel  of  the  Lord,  that  shall 
^'  stand."  It  is  to  this  elevated  point  of  observa- 
tion that  I  would  wish,  in  the  present  hour,  to 
raise  your  meditations  ; — to  lead  you  back  to  the 
tragick  history  of  the  human  race  ; — to  observe 
thence,  what  is  the  difference  between  the  "  de- 
*^  vices  of  man,"  and  the  "  counsels  of  God  ;"  and 
thus  to  awaken  some  of  the  sentiments  which  be- 
come the  citizens  of  this  country,  in  the  situation 
of  danger  in  which  it  now  stands. 

1.  I  am  to  entreat  you  then,  in  the  first  place,  to 
observe,  that  however  deeply  the  annals  of  every 
preceding  age  of  the  world  have  been  marked  with 
violence,  and  stained  with  blood,  there  has  yet  ever 
been  some  unknown  limit  which  the  Almiglity  hath 
imposed  to  the  "  rage  of  war,  and  to  the  madness 
of  the  people.'"  Had  human  wisdom  alone  gov- 
erned the  world, — had  no  greater  system  been 
established  for  the  progress  of  mankind  than  what 
human  foresight  could  impose  ; — had  no  unseen 
hand  controlled  the  violence  of  national  passions, 
or  directed  them  to  ends  which  they  did  not  fore- 
see,— the  race  of  man  must  long  ago  have  been 
extirpated  from  the  earth,  and  the  animosities  of 
barbarous  nations  closed  only  in  mutual  destruc- 
tion.    In  the  midst,  however,  of  this  dark  retro- 


62  ON  THE  GENERAL  t'AST,  180L 

spect,  while  we  see  the  stream  of  war  and  of  con- 
flict descending  to  us  from  the  beginning  of  history, 
we  see  at  the  same  time,  (as  if  by  some  enchant- 
ment,) the  race  of  man  silently  growing  in  number, 
and  increasing  in  power,  and  spreading  itself  over 
all  the  surface  of  the  habitable  earth.  Nations 
sink  into  oblivion,  or  are  overwhelmed  by  mightier 
arras.  The  seats  of  empires  are  changed,  and  the 
traveller  scarcely  finds  the  place  where  their  pow- 
er and  their  magnificence  were  known.  But  Man, 
in  the  meanwhile,  survives  the  desolation ; — his 
generations  multiply  over  that  surface  which  is  yet 
wet  with  the  blood  of  his  forefathers  ; — an  unseen 
Providence  watches  over  the  infancy  of  his  social 
being ; — and  the  same  Almighty  Power,  which 
restrains  the  tide  of  the  ocean,  hath  also  in  every 
age  said  to  the  tide  of  war,  "  Hitherto  shalt  thou 
^'  go,  and  no  farther ;  and  here  shall  thy  proud 
^^  waves  be  staid." 

3.  The  second  observation  which  is  fitted  to 
impress  us  upon  the  review  of  the  history  of  the 
world,  is,  that  whatever  may  have  been  the  revo- 
lutions of  nations,  they  have  uniformly  tended  to 
the  progress  and  improvement  of  the  human  race. 

It  is  not  thus,  indeed,  in  general,  that  we  either 
judge  or  are  taught  to  judge  of  them.  We  read 
the  history  of  particular  nations ;  but  we  seldom 
extend  our  conceptions  to  the  nobler  history  of 
Man. — We  read  with  rapture  the  history  of  those 
mighty  empires,  which,^  in  their  hour,  have  sub- 


ON  THE  GENERAL  FAST,  1801.  63 

dued,  or  have  enlightened  the  world,  and  for  which, 
perhaps,  the  prejudices  of  our  education  have 
given  us  an  unnatural  respect.  We  follow  their 
progress  with  a  kind  of  national  exultation,  and 
we  weep  at  last  over  their  fall,  as  if,  with  them, 
all  the  honours  of  humanity  liad  perished. 

It  is  only  when  we  enter  the  "  councils  of 
"  God,''  that  we  descry  a  nobler  prospect.  It  is 
then  we  see,  that,  in  "  the  eye  of  Him  that  inhab- 
**  iteth  eternity,  all  nations  are  only  as  the  dust  in 
*' the  balance:" — that,  in  the  progressive  system 
of  His  Providence,  they  have  all  appeared  in  their 
successive  order,  for  the  improvement  of  the  ages 
that  were  to  follow  them ; — that  in  tlieir  prosperi- 
ty, or  their  decay,  they  have  alike  given  the  les- 
sons by  which  mankind  are  to  be  made  wiser  and 
better; — that  there  is  a  final  period  to  which  all 
their  errours  are  conducting  them ;  and  that  then 
the  mighty  prophecy  of  Revelation  will  be  ful- 
filled, when,  under  its  unseen,  but  unceasing  in- 
fluence, *^  one  like  the  Son  of  Man  shall  reign : 
^^  and  when  a  dominion  shall  be  created  in  righ- 
*^  teousness,  that  shall  not  be  destroyed." 

The  historians  of  nations,  indeed,  rise  not  to 
these  speculations.  They  limit  themselves  to  the 
history  of  single  countries.  In  the  interest  which 
they  labour  to  create  for  them,  they,  in  some  mea- 
sure, diminish  our  interest  for  humanity  in  gene- 
ral ;  and,  whatever  be  their  genius  or  their  com- 
prehension, they  are  not  called  upon  to  registev 


64  ON  THE  GENERAL  FAST,  1801. 

the  events  of  the  great  system  of  Nature,  or  to 
trace,  through  every  temporary  obstacle,  the 
steady  march  of  the  Human  Mind.  It  is  Reli- 
gion only, — it  is  the  page  of  Revelation,  which  can 
alone  give  to  us,  amid  all  the  devices  of  men  and 
of  nations,  the  mighty  key  of  human  destiny ; — 
v^'hich  can  raise  us  from  the  narrow  contemplation 
of  individual  interests,  to  the  majestiek  study  of 
the  progress  of  the  world ; — which  can  shew  us, 
that,  from  the  beginning  of  time,  all  events  have 
been  contributing  to  the  gradual  illumination  of 
the  general  race  of  man; — and  which,  while  it 
carries  our  eyes  backward  to  the  sanguinary 
scenes  of  antiquity,  can  point  out  to  us,  at  the 
same  time,  that  they  were  all  ministering  to  final 
good ; — that  from  their  errours  has  sprung  our  wis- 
dom ; — from  their  poverty  our  riches  ; — from  their 
ignorance  our  knowledge ; — and  that  even  the 
progress  of  conquest  (however  infamous  in  its 
motives,  or  unhallowed  in  its  means,)  has  yet, 
under  the  Providence  of  the  Eternal  Father,  been 
made  subservient  to  the  extension  of  knowledge, 
the  improvement  of  laws,  the  melioration  of  man- 
ners, and,  above  all,  to  the  final  diffusion  of  reli- 
gious light  over  every  people  of  mankind. 

3.  I  leave,  however,  this  magnificent  subject,  to 
observe,  in  the  last  place,  that  the  history  of  the 
world  proves  to  us,  that  the  government  of  God 
is  the  government  of  Justice  ;  that  the  laws  of  mo- 
rality apply  to  nations^  as  well  as  to  individuals  ; 


OIV  THE  GENERAL  FAST,  1801.  65 

and  that  the  prosperity  or  fall  of  empires  has  ever 
been  the  consequence  of  their  national  virliie  or 
their  national  guilt. 

When  we  look  back  upon  ?the  history  of  anti- 
quity, the  prospect  is  like  that  of  the  waves  of  the 
ocean  ;  and  nations  are  seen  arising  for  their  mo- 
ment above  the   ordinary  level,  to  fall  back  again 
into  the  mass  from  which  they  arose.  If  we  search 
for  the  causes  of  their  fall,  we  shall  find  them  in 
their  views  and  their  policy.     All  of  them,  in  their 
day,  have  had  their  own  devices, — some  of  them 
to  enslave  the  people  whom  they  governed, — some 
to   extend  their  power  by  the  atrocities  of  con- 
quest,— others  to  monopolize  the  commerce  of  the 
world,  and   to   become  rich   by  the  oppression  of 
all  around  them.     These  mighty  devices  are  now 
past.     The  sleep  of  many  hundred  years  has  bu- 
ried their  pride  and  their  guilt  in  oblivion  ;— and 
when   we  trace  the  principles   upon  which   they 
acted,  we  rejoice,  even  now,  at  their  fall,  and  feel 
the  justice  of  that  law,  by  which  "  the  counsel  of 
"  God  alone"  is  destined  to  "  stand." 

We  live  in  times,  my  brethren,  when  these 
truths  are  not  "  the  hearing  of  the  ear,"  but  when 
"  we  see  them  with  our  eyes."  We  live  in  times, 
"  when  the  judgments  of  the  Lord  are  in  the  earth," 
—when  nations  are  falling  around  us,  and  when 
scarcely  a  year  passes  without  being  marked  by 
the  dethronement  of  monarchs.  Do  we  look  for 
the  causes  of  these  awful  events  ?  We  shall  find 
them  in  their  national  sins  ;  in  the  corruption  of 
9 


^6  ON  THE  GENERAL  FAST,  1801. 

their  private  manners  ;  in  the  injustice  or  oppres- 
sion of  their  internal  governments  ;  or  in  tiie  ambi- 
tion or  avarice  of  their  national  policy.  The  pe- 
riod of  the  "  devices  of  man's  heart"  has  ar- 
rived, and  the  counsel  of  the  Lord  arises  to  stand. 
The  foot  of  guilt  has  long  trod  upon  the  earth,  and 
legions  of  armed  men  are  sprung  up  to  aveng& 
and  to  purify  it. 

These  also,  v^^ith  all  their  pride,  and  all  their 
atrocity,  will  pass.  The  storm  which  is  now  ra- 
ging over  a  suffering  world,  will  renovate,  but  not 
destroy.  The  empires  which  perish,  will  perish, 
only  to  be  renewed  in  nobler  forms,  and  under 
more  auspicious  rule.  The  power  itself,  which 
the  Almighty  hath  made  the  instrument  of  his  jus- 
tice, will  last  but  for  the  time  that  is  appointed ; 
and,  when  the  devices  of  ambition  have  passed, 
like  the  storms  of  winter,  over  a  suffering  worlds 
"  the  counsel  of  the  Lord  will  stand,"  and  awa- 
ken a  nobler  spring. 

While  these  are  the  mighty  truths  in  which  the 
voice  of  history  joins  with  that  of  religion,  there  is 
yet  a  very  common  mistake  which  prevents  us 
from  applying  them  to  ourselves.  We  are  all  apt 
to  conceive  ourselves  as  of  less  consequence,  and 
less  responsibility  in  the  government  of  our  coun- 
try than  we  really  are,  and  to  imagine  that  truths 
like  these  are  of  importance  only  to  the  statesman 
and  the  legislator,  but  of  little  importance  to  the 
private  citizen. 


ON  THE  GENERAL  FAST,  1801.  ^( 

In  every  country,  however,  even  the  most  de- 
spotick,  much  ever  depends  upon  the  will  of  tlie 
people  ;  and  no  projects  of  government  can  hope 
for  success,  which  do  not  fall  in  with  the  wishes 
and  the  passions  of  the  nation.  But,  in  this  coun- 
try, my  brethren,  in  a  country  so  long  trained  to 
freedom  and  independence  ; — in  which  the  repre- 
sentation of  the  people  forms  a  constituent  part  of 
the  legislature  itself  ; — in  which  the  long  posses- 
sion of  liberty  and  industry  hath  disseminated 
wealth  and  influence  among  every  class  of  men  : 
and  in  which  the  powers  of  Government  depend 
in  a  great  degree  upon  its  credit  with  the  publick  ; 
— in  this  country,  the  voice  of  the  people  forms 
the  firmest  support  of  its  government ;  their  pas- 
sions determine  the  conduct  of  those  who  govern 
them ;  and  it  is  their  wisdom  or  folly  which,  in  a 
great  measure,  marks  the  character  of  the  national 
era. 

Of  this  people,  we  are  a  part — to  this  voice, 
whatever  it  may  be,  we  contribute — and  in  the 
wisdom,  or  in  the  guilt  of  that  war  in  which  we 
are  engaged,  we  also  must  have  our  individual 
share.  It  is  ever  wise  in  us  to  look  upon  our 
duties  in  this  solemn  light ;  in  the  light,  not  of 
expedience,  but  of  conscience  ;  and,  in  the  reli- 
gious pause  which  this  day  aftbrds,  I  have  laid 
this  view  of  the  subject  upon  you,  that  you  may 
consider  whether  it  is  "  the  devices  of  man"  you 
are  pursuing,  or  the  "  counsel  of  God,'* 


68  ON  THE  GENERAL  FAST,  1801. 

If  then^  in  the  first  place,  the  war  we  pursue, 
be  one  which  is  neither  founded  in  justice,  nor 
necessity  ;  if  it  be  a  war  undertaken  to  overturn 
the  independence,  or  abridge  the  prosperity  of 
any  other  people ;  if  it  be  to  add  to  our  wealth  by 
the  spoils  of  the  world,  or  to  seek  our  glory  by  the 
tears  of  innocent,  or  the  blood  of  unoifending 
nations  ;  if  these  be  our  secret  objects  in  the  war, 
let  us  not  think,  nor  hope,  nor  pray  for  success. 
Victory  may  follow  victory  ;  achievement  may 
succeed  achievement ;  the  pulse  of  national  van- 
ity may  beat  high ;  but  "  the  counsel  of  the  Al- 
^^  mighty"  is  against  our  devices.  The  secret  vice 
which  silently  pursues  its  end,  is  undermining  the 
fabrick  of  all  our  prosperity,  and  the  destroying 
angel,  who  comes  from  the  throne  of  God  to  "  jus- 
^^  tify  his  ways  to  man,"  rejoices  in  the  triumphs 
which  his  hand  is  so  soon  to  wither  ;  and  in  that 
attitude  of  presumptuous  elevation,  which  must  so 
soon  be  humbled  in  the  dust. 

But,  my  brethren,  on  the  other  hand,  if  it  be  a 
war  of  a  different  description  that  our  hearts  tell 
us  we  are  pursuing ;  if  it  be  a  war,  necessary  in 
its  nature,  and  just  in  its  end  ;  if  it  be  to  maintain 
the  rights,  the  freedom,  and  the  independence  of 
our  country ;  if  it  be  to  protect  that  constitution, 
which  is  the  fountain  of  all  our  best  enjoyments 
here,  and  that  religion  which  is  the  source  of  all 
our  hopes  hereafter ;  if  it  be  to  continue  to  our 
children  that'  freedom  to  which  they  were  born^, 


ON  THE  GENERAL  FAST,  1801.  69 

and  that  faith  in  which  they  were  baptized ;  if 
these  be  our  sole  objects  in  the  war  in  whicli  we  are 
engaged,  then,  in  the  name  of  the  living  God,  let 
us  fear  not.  Defeat  may  for  a  time  succeed  defeat ; 
misfortune  may  follow  misfortune,  and  the  hearts 
of  the  weak  and  the  timid  may  turn  cold  ; — but 
the  counsels  of  God  are  with  us.  Every  known, 
and  every  unknown  power  of  nature  are  leagued 
in  our  favour.  Even  under  circumstances  of  deep- 
er alarm  than  we  have  yet  experienced,  hope  is 
never  to  be  lost.  It  is  not  easy  to  conquer  an 
united  people ; — it  is  not  easy  to  wrest  from  a 
fre'e  laud  the  liberty  to  which  it  was  born  ; — it  is 
not  easy  to  tear  from  a  great  nation  tlie  honours 
which  they  have  worn  in  the  sight  of  mankind  for 
80  many  hundred  years,  and  the  glories,  Avhich, 
in  every  age,  their  fathers  have  transmitted  to 
them. 

For  a  long  season,  my  brethren,  this  country 
has  enjoyed  a  prosperity  unexampled  in  the  his- 
tory of  time.  The  annals  of  the  world,  however, 
tell  us,  from  the  history  of  many  nations,  that 
such  prosperity  has  often  been  the  forerunner  of 
their  fall ;  and,  trusting  to  such  analogies,  the  ene- 
my endeavours  to  persuade  the  rest  of  mankind, 
that  such  also  is  soon  to  be  our  fate.  The  time, 
therefore,  is  come,  when  we  are  to  know  whether 
prosperity  has  also  corrupted  us, — whether  wealth 
has  brought  with  it  its  usual  avengers, — and 
whether  the  selfishness  of  commerce,  and  the  fee- 


rO  ON  THE  GENERAL  FAST,  1801. 

bleness  of  luxury,  have  also  made  our  hands  weak, 
and  our  hearts  cold.  If  it  be  so, — if  we  are  be- 
come careless  or  indifferent  of  the  honours  of  our 
country  ; — if  we  can  place  interest  in  opposition 
to  duty ; — if  we  can  think  of  our  own  private 
profits,  when  the  existence  of  our  country  is  at 
stake  ; — if  we  can  coolly  calculate  the  price  which 
is  to  pay  us  for  freedom,  for  honour,  and  for  inde- 
pendence ; — let  us  not  deceive  ourselves. — What- 
ever our  fathers  may  have  been,  we  are  no  longer 
a  nation, — "  we  are  weighed  in  the  balance"  of 
God,  '^  and  are  found  wanting.'^  "  The  kingdom  is 
'^  taken  from  us,"  and  will  be  given  to  a  nobler 
people. 

I  hope,  however,  my  brethren,  for  better  things. 
I  hope  that,  amid  all  our  wealth  and  all  our  lux- 
ury, the  spirit  of  our  country  is  yet  undecayed. 
I  trust,  that,  conducting  ourselves  *^by  the  coun- 
^^  sels  of  God,"  we  may  laugh  to  scorn  "  the  de- 
^^  vices  of  man."  And  I  do  trust  so,  from  those 
animating  scenes  which  every  where  meet  our 
eyes.  I  trust  in  it,  from  that  ardour  with  which 
the  great  and  the  opulent,  in  every  part  of  our 
country,  have  sprung  from  the  lap  of  affluence  into 
arms,  when  its  liberty  and  its  independence  are 
threatened,  I  trust  in  it,  from  that  unexampled 
charity  which  has  covered  years  of  national  suf- 
fering with  glory, — which  has  grown  with  every 
distress  as  it  arose,  and  which  seems  to  have  no 
limit  but  that  of  the  miseries  it  can  relieve.    I 


ON  THE  GENERAL  FAST,  1801.  7t 

trust  ia  it,  from  the  profusion  with  which  the 
British  heart  poured  forth  the  treasures  of  its 
wealth,  whenever  the  standard  of  liberty  was  un- 
furled, or  the  blessings  which  itself  enjoyed  seemed 
to  be  opening  upon  other  men.  I  trust  in  it,  still 
more,  from  that  silent  but  heroick  magnanimity 
with  which  the  great  body  of  our  people,  con- 
scious of  their  blessings,  have,  in  late  years,  borne 
the  visitations  of  God  ;  and  which,  wliile  it  tells 
us  the  affection  with  which  they  cling  to  their 
country,  affords  us  the  deepest  and  sublimest 
earnest,  that  they  will  not  bear  the  visitations  of 
Man. 

The  war,  however,  with  all  its  hopes,  and  all 
its  fears,  icill  cease.  When  the  ends  of  the  Al- 
mighty are  accomplished,  nature  will  reassume 
her  reign  of  peace ;  ^'  the  devices  of  Man  will 
^<  fail,'^  and  "  the  counsel  of  God  alone  will 
^*  stand.'^  Yet  a  few  years,  and  all  that  trouble, 
and  all  that  bless  humanity,  will  rest  in  their 
graves.  The  great  designs  of  the  Almighty  will 
proceed,  and  victor  and  vanquished  will  alike 
appear  before  the  Eternal  Throne. 

In  that  awful  and  searching  hour,  it  will  be  of 
little  consequence  to  us,  in  what  scenes  of  suffer- 
ing or  enjoyment  life  has  been  passed.  All  that 
will  be  of  consequence  is, — whether  its  duties 
have  been  discharged, — whether  we  have  acted 
the  part  of  brave,  and  pious,  and  virtuous  citizens, 
— or  that  of  weak.  an<l  timid,  and  selfish  men  ! 


72  ON  THE  GENERAL  FAST,  1801. 

1  pray  God,  my  brethren,  that,  with  this  mighty 
prospect  before  us,  and  the  counsel  of  the  Al- 
mighty on  our  side,  we  may  all  so  meet  the  dan- 
gers which  advance  upon  us,  that,  in  our  last  hour, 
we  may  have  the  consolation  of  thinking,  that  we 
have  done  our  duty  to  our  children,  to  our  coun- 
try, and  to  our  God  ; — that  we  may  leave  the  land 
which  gave  us  birth  free,  as  in  the  hour  when  we 
were  born ; — and  that  the  future  historian  of  our 
country  may  say.  That  in  our  hearts  the  "  spirit 
^^  of  God  had  arisen,"  and  that  by  our  arms  "  his 
^^  enemies  were  scattered.'' 


SERMON   V. 
ON  SEASONS  OF  SCARCITY,* 

Psalm  xc.  3. 

"Thou  turnest  man   to  destruction:    Again  Tliou  sayest,  Come 
again,  ye  children  of  men." 

In  this  psalm,  composed  evidently  in  some  sea- 
son of  national  affliction  and  despondence,  the 
Psalmist  expresses  the  great  truth  of  the  dominion 
of  the  Almighty  over  nature,  and  the  continual 
dependence  of  man  upon  the  God  "  that  made 
''  him."  It  is  not  only  as  an  individual,  but  as 
the  representative  of  his  people,  that  he  here  pros- 
trates himself  before  the  throne  of  Heaven  ;  and, 
feeling  that  He  whom  he  addressed,  "  was  God 
^^  from  everlasting,"  he  acknowledges,  at  the  same 
time,  that  it  was  His  power  alone  which  "  tunied 
"  nations  to  destruction  ;"  and  which  again  could 
say, — "come  again,  ye  children  of  men." 

In  this  deep  and  awful  sentiment,  every  one 
who  hath  lived  to  the  age  of  understanding  mnsi 
agree  with  the  Psalmist.     Life,  we  all  know,  is  no 

*  Preached  after  the  severe  season  of  1800. 

10 


74  ON  SEASONS  OF  SCARCITY. 

scene  of  security ;  it  is  a  broken  and  uncertain 
scene,  in  which  both  individuals  and  nations  are 
mutually  subjected  to  the  apparent  rule  of  time 
and  chance.  Amid  the  opening  promises  of  pros- 
perous times,  some  unwelcome  blast  often  comes 
to  wither  the  hopes  we  had  formed  ;  and,  even 
when  prosperous  times  return,  we  tremble  to 
think,  that  the  adversities  we  have  suffered  may 
again  be  renewed.  It  is  thus  now,  therefore,  as 
in  the  days  of  the  Psalmist,  that  the  Governour  of 
Nature  displays  his  power,  by,  at  one  season, 
seemingly  "  turning  man  to  destruction  ;''  and  at 
another,  saying,  ^^come  again,  ye  'children  of 
"men." 

It  is  probable,  my  brethren,  that  the  seasons  of 
adversity  and  of  want  which  we  have  witnessed, 
may  have  brought  this  reflection  to  all  our  minds, 
and  that  the  highest  as  well  as  the  lowest  of  us 
must  have  felt  his  dependence  upon  him  "  who 
**  inhabiteth  eternity."  With  all  this,  however, 
it  is  possible  for  us  to  entertain  very  erroneous 
and  very  ungrateful  views  upon  the  subject. — We 
may  forget  the  beneficence  of  God  amid  our  con- 
siderations of  his  power ;  and,  while  we  meet 
adversity  with  superstitious  terrour,  we  may  meet 
prosperity  with  an  unbecoming  joy.  Suffer  me, 
therefore,  in  the  present  discourse,  to  consider  the 
purpose  or  end  of  this  apparent  uncertainty  and 
instability  in  the  government  of  nature ;  and  to 
shew  you  the  important  effects  it  has  upon  the 


ON  SEASONS  OF  SCARCITY.  7S 

improvement  and  happiness  of  human  nature.  On 
so  important  a  subject,  1  can  offer  you  only  a  few 
very  imperfect  reflections  : — Yet,  1  trust,  that  to 
those  who  pursue  them,  they  will  afford  a  happi- 
ness, and  awaken  a  devotion  of  no  common  kind. 
1.  I  must  observe,  then,  in  the  first  place,  tliat 
there  is  no  other  system  than  this  of  variableness 
and  uncertainty,  which  could  be  fitted  to  the  cha- 
racter of  such  a  being  as  man.  In  the  human 
mind,  as  wc  all  know,  there  are  capacities  and  vir- 
tues of  very  different  kinds,  and  which  respect  very 
different  situations  of  human  condition. — There 
are  powers  of  understanding  which  are  adapted 
to  prosperity,  and  others  to  adversity ;  there  are 
the  virtues  of  patience,  of  resignation,  of  magna- 
nimity, in  scenes  of  distress, — as  well  as  those  of 
gratitude,  of  generosity,  or  of  beneficence,  in 
scenes  of  enjoyment.  The  perfection,  however, 
of  human  nature,  and,  Avhat  is  far  more,  the  voice 
of  conscience  within  us,  demands,  that  both  of 
these  should  be  brought  into  exercise ;  and  the 
character  of  man  ever  remains  mutilated  and  im- 
perfect, while  it  is  the  virtues  or  the  capacities  of 
one  condition  alone  which  he  possesses  or  dis- 
plays. To  such  a  being, — to  a  state  of  existence 
intended  to  call  all  those  various  powers  and  vir- 
tues into  action, — no  conceivable  character  of  na- 
ture around  him  could  be  adapted,  but  that  of 
variableness  and  uncertainty.  Were  it  in  a  scene 
of  perpetual  prosperity  he  was  placed,  all   the 


76  ON  SEASONS  OF  SCARCITY. 

nobler  capacities  of  his  nature  would  be  lost  iu 
indolence  and  enjoyment. — Were  it  in  a  scene  of 
perpetual  hardship,  on  the  contrary,  whatever  is 
amiable  or  generous  in  his  character,  would  equal- 
ly be  extinguished,  and  uniform  selfishness  and 
ferocity  would  mark  his  imperfect  mind.  It  is  in 
these  vicissitudes  of  plenty  and  want,  of  prosper- 
ity and  hardship,  that  all  the  latent  powers  of 
humanity  can  alone  be  brought  into  exercise, — 
that  the  understanding  can  employ  all  its  capaci- 
ties, and  the  heart  display  all  its  virtues  ; — and 
that  thus,  according  to  the  expression  of  the  Apos- 
tle, ^^  the  man,  or  the  creature  of  God,  may  be 
^^  completely  furnished  unto  all  good  works." 

2.  If  this  very  obvious  consideration,  my  bre- 
thren, shews  us  the  wisdom  with  which  the  con- 
stitution of  nature  is  adapted  to  that  of  man ;  there 
is  another,  equally  obvious,  which  shews  us  the  be- 
nevolence which  reigns,  even  in  the  administration 
of  the  seasons  of  hardship  and  suffering.  When  we 
reflect  how  dependent  the  generations  of  men  are 
upon  the  laws  of  nature ;  when  we  consider,  too,  our 
ignorance  with  regard  to  tlie  causes  that  influence 
them,  either  as  to  duration  or  extent,  we  cannot  but 
be  astonished  at  the  limits  which  they  are  made  to 
preserve,  and  at  those  unknown  laws  which  gov- 
ern every  element  of  life  around  us.  The  winds, 
for  aught  that  we  see,  might  have  been  made  to 
blow  with  a  violence,  Avhich  no  labours  of  man 
could  resist ; — the  ocean  might  have  heaved  with 


ON  SEASONS  OF  SCARCITY.  77 

waves,  which,  in  the  liouis  of  its  fury,  might  have 
overwhelmed  all  the  dwellings  of  men  ; — the  sea- 
sons of  rain,  or  of  drought,  in  the  same  manner, 
might  have  been  of  an  intensity  or  continu- 
ance Avhich  would  liave  anniliilated  both  seed- 
time and  harvest,  and  sM^ept,  in  a  short  time,  the 
race  of  man  from  the  face  of  creation.  Powerful, 
however,  as  these  ministers  are,  in  the  hands  of 
the  Almighty,  they  are  yet  governed  in  their 
power.  There  is  some  unknown  limit  wliich  they 
are  not  suffered  to  pass  ;  and,  although  we  dare 
not  say  that  all  these  were  made  only  for  the  sake 
of  man,  it  is  impossible  not  to  see,  tliat,  in  the 
structure  of  the  universe,  there  is  yet  an  accommo- 
dation to  his  weakness,  as  well  as  to  his  powers, — 
that  these  visitations  come  to  awe  men,  not  to  de- 
stroy,— that  they  are  under  the  government  of 
Him,  "who  knoweth  whereof  we  are  made;  who 
^*  remembereth  that  we  arc  but  dust.'' 

The  circumstances  which  I  have  now  mention- 
ed,— the  suitableness  of  uncertainty  in  the  govern- 
ment of  nature  to  a  being  such  as  man,  and,  at 
the  same  time,  the  limit  which  is  imposed  to  its 
occasional  severities, — are  suflicient  to  convince 
us,  that  we  are  not  under  tlie  dominion  of  Time 
or  Chance  ;  that  the  irregularities,  as  well  as  the 
regularity  of  nature,  are  equally  in  the  design  of 
the  same  All-wise  and  Beneficent  Creator,  and 
that  some  great  purpose  is  uniformly  pursued 
amid  the  wants^  as  well  as  amid  the  prosperity  of 
man. 


7S  ON  SEASONS  OF  SCARCITY* 

To  lead  your  minds,  my  brethren,  to  this  great 
and  important  truth,  sufl'er  me  to  present  to  you 
some  of  the  beneficent  purposes  which  visitations, 
such  as  we  have  lately  experienced,  serve,  both 
with  regard  to  nations  and  individuals. 

They  are,  in  the  first  view,  the  great  causes, 
in  every   country,  of  national  improvement  ;    of 
improvement  in  that  first   and  fundamental  art, 
the  cultivation  of  the  earth,  upon  which  all  others 
ultimately   depend.      If  seasons  were  uniformly 
prosperous, — if  the  harvest  every  year  returned 
whatever  was  necessary  for  man  and  for  beast, — 
every  motive  to  human  industry,  and  even  to  hu- 
man thought,  would  be  taken  away. — ^Nature  her- 
self would  do  the  whole ;  man  would  be  left  only 
to  enjoy ;  and,  freed  from  the  necessity  of  thought, 
would  soon  sink  into  animal  indulgence,  and  all 
the  powers  of  his  mind  stagnate  in  stationary  cor- 
ruption.    The  visitations  of  scarcity  serve  greater 
ends,  and  call  nobler  powers  into  action.     By  a 
wholesome  but  limited  severity,  they  awaken  all 
the  force  and  ingenuity  of  his  mind,  to  correct 
or  to  mitigate  the  severity  of  nature.     Invention 
is  exercised  iu  new  methods  of  improvement ;  ob- 
servation is  extended  to  other   soils,  and   more 
perfect  systems  of  cultivation  ;  the  laws   of  na- 
ture  are   more  carefully  studied,  and  the  fruits 
of  other  countries  are  introduced  to  aid  the  pov- 
erty, or  to  increase  the  production  of  our  own. 


ON  SEASONS  OF  SCARCITY.  79 

Siich  are  the  acquisitions  which  are  gained  to 
national  knowledge  and  science,  by  these  tem- 
porary severities  of  the  seasons.  But  tliere  is 
one  additional  reflection,  very  deserving  of  our 
notice,  that  they  are  not  lost  with  the  cause  that 
produced  them.  TJie  years  of  scarcity  pass  ; 
but  the  knowledge  which  has  been  acquired,  the 
discoveries  which  have  been  made,  remain  to 
every  future  generation ;  they  remain  to  swell 
the  sum  of  human  science, — to  multiply,  in  hap- 
pier years,  the  productions  of  nature  and  the 
number  of  the  people, — to  constitute,  by  these 
means,  new  sources  of  national  wealth, — and  to 
form  new  foundations  of  national  splendour. 

I  hasten,  however,  from  this  wide  and  compre- 
hensive subject,  and  from  other  reflections  which 
it  suggests,  to  state  to  you  the  effects  which  such 
severities  of  nature  are  fitted  to  have  upon  the 
character  of  the  Individual,  and  to  shew  you,  that 
here,  as  every  where,  we  may  discern  the  marks 
of  that  Paternal  Hand,  "  who  ruleth  in  the  Heav- 
^^  ens,"  and  yet  dwelleth  "^  among  the  children  of 
"  men.*' 

1.  The  first  effect  of  such  visitations,  is  to  awa- 
ken and  exalt  our  sentiments  of  devotion.  If  the 
feelings  of  religion  are  necessary,  as  God  knows 
they  are,  to  the  happiness  of  human  nature ; — if 
they  are  necessary,  as  we  all  know,  to  the  final 
happiness  of  his  Being, — no  other  constitution 
but  that  which  we  see,  could  be  suited  to  this  sub- 


80  ON  SEASONS  OF  SCARCITY. 

lime  purpose.  If  life  were  always  prosperous, — 
if  every  season  sliowered  clown  its  plenty,  and  the 
years  of  men  were  passed  in  secure  enjoyment, — 
e\ery  thing  teaches  us  to  think,  that  the  great 
truths  of  religion  would  soon  pass  from  his  mind, 
— that  futurity  would  be  forgot  ; — and  that  this 
uniformity  of  beneficence  would  be  referred,  not 
to  the  will  of  Supreme  Design,  but  to  the  unthank- 
ed  direction  of  Fate  or  Destiny.  If,  on  the  other 
hand,  it  were  only  to  an  uniformity  of  hardship 
that  men  were  born,  consequences  not  less  fatal 
would  ensue.  The  benevolence  of  the  Almighty 
would  be  unknown  ;  the  dark  character  of  imagi- 
nation would  form  only  deities  of  vengeance  and 
of  power;  and  the  miserable  worshipper  would 
have  recourse  to  every  base  and  sanguinary  rite  by 
which  he  could  appease  the  tyrants  that  seemed 
to  oppress  him.  It  is  to  provide  against  these 
mutual  dangers  ;  to  retain  at  once  our  sense  of 
the  greatness  or  of  the  goodness  of  the  Almighty ; 
to  keep  alive  in  our  hearts  those  hopes  of  religion, 
Avhich  are  the  noblest  prerogative  of  our  being, — 
that  this  instability  in  nature  takes  place.  It  is  to 
direct  our  eyes  constantly  to  some  greater  being ; — 
at  one  time,  to  shew  us  how  feeble  are  all  the 
powers  of  man  ; — at  another,  to  open  to  us  all  the 
beneficence  of  Heaven  ;  and  thus,  amid  those  va- 
rying appearances,  to  lead  our  minds  continually 
to  Him  "in  whom  there  is  no  variableness  nor 
shadow  of  turning,"  and    to   that   future  state, 


ON  SEASONS  OF  SCARCITY,  81 

'^  where  there  is  final  rest  for  the  people  of  God." 
Such  are  the  views  of  religion  ;  and  such  also,  as 
we  may  all  see,  amid  the  severities  as  well  as 
amid  the  bounty  of  nature,  are  the  great  ends 
which  He  that  made  us  is  pursuing,  and  by  which 
he  wishes  to  make  perfect  the  immortal  soul. 

2.  The  next  effect,  my  brethren,  which  visita- 
tions of  scarcity  have,  is  upon  the  moral  conduct 
of  men.  History  and  experience  tell  us  all,  what 
have  been  the  fatal  consequences  of  continued 
prosperity,  both  with  respect  to  nations  and  indi- 
viduals ; — our  own  experience  also,  and  the  least 
knowledge  of  the  history  of  nations,  may  tell  us, 
on  the  other  hand,  what  haveT)een  the  important 
effects  of  temporary  suffering.  In  the  present 
hour,  no  former  examples  are  necessary.  We 
have  all,  I  trust,  wherever  we  have  been,  seen 
many  instances  of  the  improvement  of  human 
character,  both  of  the  poor  and  the  rich,  both  of 
the  low  and  the  high,  by  the  visitation  we  bav« 
lately  suffered. 

1st.    It  has   confirmed,  if   not    created,  many 

virtues  among  the  poor.     From  the  prosperity  of 

former  years,    which  then,   alas  !   had  too  often 

been  wasted  in  intemperance  and   profligacy,  it 

has  produced    sobriety  and    recollection.      The 

father   has  been  brought  back  to  his   family, — 

the  wife  to  her  children.     The  domestick  virtues, 

far  more  important  to  human  happiness  than  all 

others,  have  been  cultivated  and  understood ;  and 
11 


8^  ON  SEASONS  OF  SCARCITY. 

many  an  unfortunate  being,  who  was  advancing  in 
the  road  of  guilt  and  infamy,  has  returned  to  the 
sense  of  virtue,  and  the  consciousness  of  its  re- 
wards. The  value  of  industry  and  economy  have 
been  known,  and  by  many  that  knowledge  and 
those  habits  have  been  acquired,  which  may  pro- 
vide for  the  prosperity  of  future  days.  But,  above 
all,  my  brethren,  by  these  means  "  their  hearts 
*'  have  been  turned  unto  righteousness ;"  and,  I 
doubt  not,  that  there  are  many,  who,  when  they 
come  to  the  bed  of  death,  will  acknowledge,  that 
it  is  to  these  severities  they  have  owed  their  con- 
version; and  th«t,  had  seasons  of  prosperity  con- 
tinued, they  woul^  have  died  as  well  as  '^  lived, 
^^  without  the  sense  of  God  in  the  world." 

2dly.  If  such  have  been  the  consequences  to  the 
poor,  I  am  glad  to  think,  that  such  also  have  been 
the  effects  upon  the  opulent  and  the  great.  How- 
ever much  we  may  declaim  against  the  weakness 
or  sinfulness  of  human  nature,  it  is  pleasing  to  re- 
flect, that,  in  the  hours  of  distress,  we  have  seen 
the  actual  proofs  of  Christian  charity.  In  no  age, 
surely,  that  has  elapsed  in  the  Christian  kalendar, 
— in  no  country  which  boasts  the  name  of  Chris- 
tian,— have  such  exertions  of  charity  been  made, 
as  in  this  island,  during  the  preceding  years. — 
While  it  is  pleasing  to  remember  this  truly  Chris- 
tian fact,  it  is  pleasing  also  to  remember  the  words 
of  the  wise  man,  ^'that  the  merciful  man  doeth 
"  good  unto  his  own  soul.''    I  doubt  not  but  there 


ON  SEASONS  OF  SCARCITY.  83 

are  many  who  can  justify  this  fine  observation.     I 
doubt  not,  but  tliere  are   many  among  the  great 
and  the  opulent,  whom  the  past  seasons  have  led 
to  more  than  ordinary  thought ;  who  have  been 
raised  l)y  the  wants  around  them,  from  tlie  cheer- 
less pursuit  of  selfish  pleasure,  to  the  genial  expe- 
rience of  benevolence ;    and  who,    having    once 
known  the  true   happiness   of  their  nature,  will 
never  again  depart  from    it.     I  doubt  not,   still 
further,  but  that  in  that  awful  hour,  when  high  as 
well  as  low  must  submit  to  the  dominion  of  death, 
many  will  tell,  that  these  seasons  have  been  also 
the  seasons  of  fAe?r  conversion; — that  they  gave 
them  a  juster  notion  of  human  nature,  and  human 
wants ;    and  that  the  dark  hours   in   which   the 
benevolence  of  God  seemed  to  be  eclipsed,   were 
those  in  which,  while  they  felt  themselves  called  to 
the  relief  of  suffering  nature,  they  were  called  also 
to  the  best  enjoyments,  and  the  best  hopes  of  their 
nature. 

The  observation  which  I  particularly  wish  to 
leave  upon  your  mmds,  from  seasons  such  as  the 
past,  is  their  importance  to  morality.  And  no 
view  that  we  can  take  of  the  benevolence  or  wis- 
dom of  God  is  more  striking.  In  such  seasons, 
the  poor  man  acquires  the  habits  of  thought,  of  fru- 
gality, of  temperance,  with  all  the  donestick  vir- 
tues ever  connected  with  tliese.  The  rich  or  great 
man,  on  the  other  hand,  acquires  the  habits  of 
attention,  of  Immanityj  and  of  charity  ; — and  the 


B4  ON  SEASONS  OF  SCARCITY. 

wish,  not  only  to  relieve  distress,  but,  far  more^ 
to  prevent  it.  The  season  of  distress  passes, — 
but  these  habits  remain.  They  remain  to  bless 
the  possessors,  and  to  benefit  humanity.  But,  what 
is  far  more,  they  remain,  in  eaeli  rank,  if  they  are 
preserved,  to  the  age  of  immortality,  and  to  cover 
equally  tlie  dignified  and  the  undignified  head 
with  the  crown  of  eternal  glory. — To  each  the 
hour  will  come,  when  these  "  light  afflictions," 
which  are  indeed  but  "  for  a  moment,"  will  meet 
their  full  reward  ;  and  when,  in  looking  back 
upon  the  varying  scenes  of  their  trial,  they  will 
bless  those  hours  of  suffering,  when  they  learnt 
the  knowledge  of  God,  and  the  comforts  of  per- 
forming their  duty. 

Such,  my  bretliren,  are  the  sentiments  which  seem 
to  me  to  befit  the  present  season.  The  thought- 
lessness of  vulgar  men  meets  adversity  with  de- 
spondence, and  prosperity  with  levity.  It  is  the 
character  of  religion  to  teach  us  nobler  sentiments  : 
— to  teach  us  that  all  events,  whether  fortunate  or 
unfortunate,  are  equally  under  the  Government  of 
the  Almighty ;  and  that  this  varying  and  uncer- 
tain scene  of  being  is  most  wisely  accommodated 
to  the  nature  of  that  mind  which  is  formed  for  im- 
mortality, and  can  only  "  be  made  perfect  by 
'^suffering." 

Even  in  these  hours,  therefore,  my  brethren, 
when  our  minds  are  scarcely  recovered  from  the 
memory  of  former  hardships,  I  cannot  pray  that 


ON  SEASONS  OF  SCARCITY.  85 

such  seasons  may  never  return, — I  pray?  on  tlie 
contrary,  that  the  will  of  God  "  may  be  done  iti 
^^  earth,  as  it  is  in  Heaven  ;" — that  our  fears  and 
our  hopes  may  be  equally  prostrated  in  holy  sub- 
mission before  the  Throne  of  Omniscience; — and 
that  whatever  be  the  seasons  which  his  Providence 
may  send,  tlie  Spirit  that  is  from  on  High  may 
lead  us  to  know  His  laws,  and  dispose  us  to  obey 
His  will. 


•_^i.:     i^f 


SERMON  VI. 


ON  THE  ENCOURAGEMEN^T  WHICH  THE  GOSPEL  AF- 
FORDS TO  ACTIVE  DUTY. 


St.  Mark  viii.  9. 

"  And  they  that  had  eaten  were  about  four  thousand  :  and  he  sent 
them  away." 

These  words  are  the  conclusion  of  the  account 
of  the  first  miracle  which  our  Saviour  performed 
in  feeding  a  multitude  in  the  desert ;  and,  simple 
as  they  seem,  they  yet  contain  much  valuable 
instruction. 

There  is  a  curiosity  natural  to  every  christian 
mind,  to  retrace  the  events  of  the  life  of  their 
Master ; — to  go  back,  as  it  were,  to  the  age  in 
which  he  appeared  ; — to  see  his  humble  origin, 
and  his  melancholy  progress  ; — and,  amid  those 
scenes  of  beneficence  and  of  sorrow  through  which 
he  passed,  to  listen  to  the  accents  of  his  voice, 
and  to  the  lessons  of  his  wisdom.  It  is  this  natu- 
ral and  becoming  curiosity  which  the  books  of  the 
Gospel  so  singularly  indulge.  In  these  artless 
narrations,  the  mind  of  the  serious  reader  is  satis- 


ENCOURAGEMENT  TO  ACTIVE  DUTY,  &c.  87 

fied  in  sl  manner  that  it  is  not  very  easy  to  express. 
We  see  almost  now  the  scenes  that  have  so  long 
been  passed  ; — we  are  made  the  spectators  of  our 
Saviour's  birth,  and  the  companions  of  his  jour- 
ney; — we  follow  into  every  house  where  he  con- 
versed with  men,  and  to  every  solitude  where  he 
held  communion  with  God ; — and,  from  these 
early  narratives  of  his  humble  and  unlearned  dis- 
ciples, we  derive  a  more  intimate  conception^  both 
of  his  peculiar  character,  and  of  the  character  of  the 
religion  which  he  taught,  than  from  all  the  labour- 
ed expositions  of  learned  skill,  or  of  ambitious 
eloquence. 

The  words  of  the  text  seem  to  me  to  convey  to 
us  some  instructions  of  this  interesting  kind. 
They  represent,  in  the  first  place,  one  singular  fea- 
ture in  the  character  of  our  Lord, — his  superiority 
to  all  the  selfish  passions  of  our  nature.  The 
world,  (as  ye  know,  my  brethren,)  has  seen  many 
false  religions  ;  and  many  prophets  have  come 
unto  them  ^^  in  the  name  of  Heaven."  Whatever 
may  have  been  the  usefulness  to  barbarous  ages  of 
these  religious  impositions, — whatever  even  may 
have  been  the  sublimity  of  some  of  the  doctrines 
they  contained,  they  are  yet  all  marked  by  one 
decisive  feature  ; — their  combination  with  some 
personal  interest,  or  some  selfish  passion  of  the 
Man.  They  have  been  mingled,  either  with  that 
love  of  glory  which  aims  at  the  subjugation  of  the 
minds  of  mankind;  and  w  hich  perpetuates  its  mem- 


88  ENCOURAGEMENT  TO  ACTIVE  DUTY 

ory  in  the  temples  it  erects  to  Heaven  ;  with  that 
love  of  power,  which,  under  the  mask  of  piety,  aims 
at  supremacy  and  dominion  ;  or  with  that  dark 
enthusiasm,  which  unsheathes  the  sword  to  propa- 
gate its  own  feverish  and  frantick  imaginations. 
In  the  character  of  our  Saviour,  on  the  contrary, 
there  is  always  something  above  the  world : — a 
superiority  alike  to  all  that  is  great  and  all  that  is 
weak  in  man  ; — a  forgetfulness  of  himself,  which 
results  rather  from  nature  than  from  effort,  and 
which  assimilates  him,  in  our  opinion,  to  some 
higher  and  purer  order  of  existence.  No  love  of 
glory  or  of  power  ever  betray  themselves  in  his 
conduct ;  and,  instead  of  awakening  the  enthusi- 
asm of  men  by  revelations,  sublime  only  from  their 
obscurity,  his  object  is  ever  to  veil,  as  it  were,  the 
majesty  of  the  truths  he  reveals  : — to  speak  to  the 
heart,  rather  than  to  the  imagination  of  those  who 
heard  him  ;  and  to  make  them  rather  the  children 
of  God,  than  the  temporal  followers  of  himself. 
Of  this  distinguishing  feature  in  our  Saviour's 
character,  we  have  a  remarkable  proof  in  the 
words  of  the  text.  The  miracle  which  he  had 
performed,  "  that  of  feeding  four  thousand  men  in 
^^  the  desert,"  you  will  observe,  was  of  a  nature 
very  different  from  those  which  he  usually  perform- 
ed. Tt  was  one,  which  demonstrated  his  power 
over  nature  itself :  which  taught  those  who  wit- 
nessed it,  that,  if  his  kingdom  were  of  this  world, 
he  possessed  the  power  to  maintain  it ;  and  which 


AFFORDED  BY  THE  GOSPEL.  89 

mii^lit  lead  them  to  wisli  to  assemble  under  a 
leader,  whose  commands  nature  obeyed,  and 
whom,  tiierefore,  no  mortal  opposition  could  with- 
stftnd.  It  is  accord ini^ly  in  this  singular  moment, 
when  his  divine  commission  was  most  fully  mani- 
fested, and  when  we  may  suppose  all  the  vulgar 
passions  of  hope  and  ambition  were  working  in  the 
minds  of  the  multitude,  "  that  he  sends  them 
''  away ;"  to  shew  them  that  his  kingdom  was  a 
^^  spiritual  kingdom  ;" — -that  there  were  greater 
interests  which  he  came  to  serve,  than  those  of 
time ; — and  that  the  reign  of  his  power  was  to 
commence  in  a  sublimer  being,  when  the  shadows 
of  mortality  were  passed,  and  when  time  itself  was 
no  more. 

S.  If  the  words  of  the  text  have  this  instruction 
to  us,  with  regard  to  the  character  of  our  Lord, 
they  have  a  second  instruction  with  regard  to  the 
character  of  his  religion.  When  you  examine  the 
systems  of  pretended  revelation  which  have  pre- 
vailed, or  which  are  still  prevailing  in  the  world, 
you  will  find,  that  if  their  origin  betrays  the  ambi. 
tion  of  their  authors,  their  character  betrays  equal- 
ly the  weakness  and  imperfection  of  human  nature. 
To  one  or  other  of  the  fundamental  errours  in  reli- 
gion : — to  the  encouragement  either  of  superstition 
or  of  enthusiasm,  and,  by  these  means,  to  the  fatal 
separation  of  piety  from  moral  virtue,  they  have 
uniformly  led.  They  have  either  drawn  mea 
from  the  sphere  of  social  duty,  to  assemble  them, 
IS 


90  ENCOURAGEMENT  TO  ACTIVE  DUTY 

under  the  influence  of  superstition,  in  impure  and 
sanguinary  ceremonies,  and  persuaded  them,  that 
guilt  could  be  expiated  by  the  ritual  of  an  unmean- 
ing devotion  ;  or  they  have  driven  them  from  all 
the  most  sacred  relations   of  life,  into  solitudes 
and  deserts,  and  taught  them,  that  the  Deity  was 
to  be  propitiated  by  the  tears  of  unproductive  re- 
pentance, or  the  dreams  of  visionary  illumination. 
The  conduct  of  our  Lord,  and  the  spirit  of  His  reli- 
gion, are  very  different. — He   assembles  the  mul- 
titude, indeed,  around  him,  in  the  desert  of  human 
life,  that  he  may  teach  them  the   end  of  that  jour- 
ney upon  which   they  are   going  ; — that  he   may 
recal  the  wandering,  and  animate  the  desponding, 
and  invigorate  the  "weary  and  the  heavy  laden  ;" 
— and  he  points  out  to  them,  with  no  mortal  hand, 
that  continuing  city  to  which  they  travel,  where 
there  are  mansions  for  all  the  holy  and  the  good, 
and  where  there  "  dwelleth  knowledge,  and  wis- 
"  dom,  and  joy."     But  when  these  mighty  lessons 
are    taught,  he  sends  them  away  to  their  usual 
abodes   and  their  usual  occupations. — He  sends 
thein   back   again  to  their  own   homes, — to  that 
sacred  though  sequestered  scene,  where  all  their 
duties  meet  them   on   their  return, — where  every 
virtue  and  every  vice  of  their  nature  takes  its  ori- 
gin,— and  where   they  can  best  display  both   the 
strength  of  their  faith  and  the  purity  of  their  obe- 
dience.    It  is  thus  that  the  religion  of  Jesus  blends 
the  great  interests  of  piety  and  of  morality, — that 


AFFORDED  BY  THE  GOSPEL.  91 

it  lets  down  the  golden  chain  which  unites  Earth 
with  Heaven,  and  forms,  even  under  the  "  taber- 
"  nacles  of  clay,"  the  minds  that  are  afterwards 
*^  to  he  made  perfect,"  and  to  he  made  citizens  of  a 
kingdom  "  which  passeth  not  away,  hut  whicii  is 
"  eternal  as  the  Heavens."  Such  are  the  general 
instructions,  both  with  regard  to  the  character  of 
our  Lord  and  the  character  of  his  religion,  whicli 
the  words  of  the  text  may  convey  to  us. 

3.  There  is,  however,  another  and  a  nearer 
instruction  which  they  contain.  Distant  as  the 
period  is,  when  the  event  we  are  considering  took 
place,  it  has  yet  a  relation  to  us  ;  and  there  is  not 
one  of  us  who,  from  the  consideration  of  it,  may 
not  derive  some  personal  improvement.  We  are 
the  multitude  described  in  this  passage  of  the 
Gospel ; — we  have  heard  from  our  infant  days, 
that  there  "  was  a  great  prophet  come  into  the 
"  world  ;"  and  every  time  that  we  assemble  within 
these  walls,  for  the  great  purposes  of  spiritual  im- 
provement, and  of  publick  example, — and  every 
time,  still  more,  when  we  ascend  to  the  altar  of 
our  Lord,  and  profess  our  faith  in  his  name,  and 
our  confidence  in  his  mercy, — we  profess,  at  the 
same  time,  like  the  multitude  of  old,  to  take 
him  for  our  guide  and  our  instructer.  As  of  old, 
also,  he  designs  to  receive  us ;  to  teach  and  to 
console  us  by  the  same  words  with  which  he  for- 
merly taught  or  consoled  them :  to  employ  to  us 
the  same  accents  of  grace,  and  set  before  us  the 


9S  ENCOURAGEMENT  TO  ACTIVE  DUTY 

same  hopes  of  immortality  ;  and  to  spread  for  us, 
in  the  wilderness  of  human  life,  that  greater  feast, 
of  spirit  and  of  mind,  which  may  save  us  "  from 
"  fainting  on  our  way."  But  here,  also,  my 
brethren,  when  these  ends  are  accomplished,  he 
continues  ^'  to  send  us  away  ;"  he  continues  to 
send  us  back  again  to  those  abodes  from  which 
tve  have  severally  come  ;  to  those  several  homes, 
■where  our  trials  lie,  and  where  our  virtues  arise  ; 
and,  in  the  various  duties  of  which  we  are  all,  (if 
guided  by  his  lessons,)  ripening  equally  to  a  nobler 
being,  and  to  more  extensive  capacities  of  happi- 
ness. If,  in  coming  to  the  House  of  God,  we 
listen  to  the  call  of  Him  who  "  came  to  save  us,'^ 
we  are  to  remember,  that  the  same  voice  sends  us 
"away,'*  when  we  leave  it;  that  His  eye  foUow- 
eth  us  into  the  retirement  of  our  homes  ;  and  that 
it  is  in  the  discharge  of  the  duties  Avhich  there 
meet  us,  that  we  oifer  to  Him  the  noblest  proof  of 
our  faith,  and  the  most  acceptable  sacrifice  of  our 
obedience. 

Whenever  you  return,  then,  my  brethren,  from 
the  services  of  religion  to  the  privacy  of  your 
homes,  return  with  the  sublime  expression  of  the 
prophet  of  old  upon  your  minds  :  "  How  sacred 
^^  is  this  place  !"  it  is  the  dwelling  of  God !  "  it 
^*is  no  other  than  the  gate  of  Heaven  V  There, 
remember,  is  the  post  which  has  been  assigned 
you,  by  the  Ruler  of  the  Universe  ; — there,  the 
services  which  you  are  summoned  to  perform,  m 


AFFORDED  BY  THE  GOSPEL.  93 

the  cause  of  humanity ; — there,  the  theatre  on 
which  you  are  to  act,  in  the  sight  of  men  and  of 
angels,  and  to  qualify  yourselves  for  higher  ser- 
vices, and  a  suhlimer  employment. 

If  it  be  to  the  home  of  Youth  you  return,  when 
the  eyes  of  friends  and  of  parents  meet  you  in 
love,  remember  what  you  owe  to  them,  and  m  hat 
return  you  can  make  for  the  many  anxious  horns 
their  hearts  have  known  for  you — remember  what 
you  owe  to  that  world  upon  which  you  are  enier- 
ing,  where  you  must  either  bestow  happiness  or 
sorrow,  and  where  the  final  issue  depends  upon 
the  principles  you  are  now  acquiring,  the  know- 
ledge you  are  gaining,  and  the  hiibits  you  are 
indulging.  Hemember  still  more  uhat  you  owe 
to  Him  who  called  you  into  being  ;  w  ho  has  in- 
fused into  your  minds  so  many  noble  capacities 
for  virtue,  for  wisdom,  and  for  happiness  ;  and 
who  has  set  before  you  the  infinity  of  progressive 
perfection,  to  waken  them  into  life  and  activity. 

If  it  be  to  the  home  of  Manhood  you  return, 
luy  brethren,  consider  w  ell  what  duties  it  imposes. 
The  years  of  your  youth  and  your  education  are 
past ; — the  years  of  age  and  of  weakness  are  ap. 
proaching.  Now,  therefore,  is  the  season  of  real 
virtue,  and  of  strenuous  duty, — the  noon-day  of 
your  being,  when  all  your  powers  are  entire,  and 
when  the  Sun  of  Righteousness  burns  above  your 
head,  to  light  you  on  your  way.  Beneath  your 
own  roof,  every  honour,  and  every  usefulness  of 


94  ENCOURAGEMENT  TO  ACTIVE  DUTY 

your  being  await  you, — tlie  honours  of  the  master, 
the  husband,  the  parent,  the  friend,  and  the  citi- 
zen. These  are  the  duties  to  which  the  Father 
of  the  Universe  '^  sends  you  away."  In  confiding 
them  to  you,  he  hath  made  you  no  less  than  "  a 
^^fellow-worker  with  liimself,''  in  the  diffusion  of 
happiness  to  his  creation  ;  and,  in  calling  you  to 
their  discharge,  he  is  qualifying  you  for  some 
higher  service,  in  a  condition  of  being  where  virtue 
is  unknown  to  misfortune,  and  where  death  and 
sin  prevail  no  more. 

If  it  be  to  the  house  of  Age  you  are  returning, 
my  brethren,  where  the  storms  of  winter  are  gath- 
ering, and  the  sun  is  going  low  in  your  sky,  there 
are  yet  duties  which  await  you,  though  they  are 
tempered  to  the  failing  condition  of  your  being,  and 
suited  to  the  infirmity  of  your  strength.     You  are 
come  to  the  evening  of  your  day  ; — "  its  heat  and 
^^its  labours"   are    passed,   and  you  are   called 
upon  to  repose  in  the  cool  shade  of  memory  and  of 
meditation.      It  is  now  you  are  to  review,  with 
unimpassioned  eye,  the  transactions  in  which  you 
have  borne  a  part, — to   instruct  the  young  who 
surround  you,  by  the  long  experience   you  have 
acquired ;  and  to  teach  them,  with  the  wisdom  of 
old,  that  "to  fear  God,  and  to  keep  His  com- 
"mandments,"  constitute  the  whole  happiness,  as 
well  as  the  whole  duty  of  man.    It  is  now,  when 
passion  has  ceased,  and  the  illusions  of  the  world 
subside,  that  you  are  called  upon  to  renew  that 


AFFORDED  BY  THE  GOSPEL.        83 

innocence  which  life  has  impaired, — to  repent 
those  frailties  which  time  may  have  I)roui;ht, — 
and  to  rekindle,  even  under  the  shades  of  age, 
that  high  and  holy  spirit,  which  the  inspiration 
of  the  Almighty  breathed  into  you  with  the  breath 
of  moral  life. — Thongh  "  the  evil  days  may  be 
"  come,"  in  which  "  you  have  no  pleasure  in 
"  them,"  they  are  yet  come  in  mercy,  to  wean 
yon  from  a  temporary  world,  to  awaken  higher 
hopes,  and  inspire  more  elevated  feelings  : — to 
call  you  to  put  your  trust  in  Him,  "  who  was,  and 
"  is,  and  is  to  come  ; — in  whose  presence  there  is 
"  the  fulness  of  eternal  joy,  and  at  whose  right 
"  hand  there  are  pleasures  for  evermore." 

There  are,  however,  my  brethren,  other  varie- 
ties in  the  condition  of  human  life  than  those  of 
age,  and  there  are  other  lessons  which  we  may 
learn  from  the  words  we  have  been  considering. 
In  the  situations  either  of  prosperity  or  of  adversi- 
ty, all  men  are  to  be  found  ;  and  every  one  of  us, 
when  we  return  from  the  services  of  this  place, 
are  returning  either  to  the  house  of  joy,  or  to  the 
house  of  mourning.  If  it  be  to  the  first  of  these 
you  are  returning,  my  brethren, — if  the  voice  of 
health  and  joy  meet  you  upon  your  approach, — 
if  honour,  or  wealth,  or  power,  are  the  distinctions 
of  your  homes, — enter  them,  1  beseech  you,  with 
the>  solemn  reflections  which  religion  inspires. 
Your  dwellings  are  at  present  in  the  sunshine  of 
Heaven,  and  the  richest  blessings  of  present  time 


^6  ENCOURAGEMENT  TO  ACTIVE  DUTY 

are  given  you  to  bestow.     Think,  then,  how  hi§h 
are  the  obligations  whicli  your  prosjierity  creates  ! 
— that  you  are  the  stewards  of  the  Universal  Pa- 
rent ;  and  that  to  you  the  wretched  look  up  for 
relief,  the  injured  for  protection,  the  industrious 
for  reward,  the  virtuous  for  praise,  and  the  world 
for  example.     When  you  pass   the  threshold  of 
your  gates,  ask  your  own  hearts,  whether,  of  those 
to  whom  so  much  is  gratuitously  given,  much  will 
not  also  be  required  ? — and  if  thankfulness  spring 
up  in  your  hearts,  on  the  review  of  your  blessings, 
mingle  with  it  the  humble  prayer,   that  you   may 
be  enabled  to  use  them  as  becomes  those  who  are 
permitted  to  know  the  will  of  the  God  who  gave 
them. 

And  ye,  my  afflicted  brethren  !    ye  who   are  to 
return  to  the  various  scenes  of  the  house  of  mourn- 
ing,— to  meet  the  struggles  of  poverty  or  misfor- 
tune,— to  watch,  with  throbbing  hearts,  the  bed 
of  sickness,  or  to  bend,  in  speechless  sorrow,  over 
the  bed  of  death, — return,  I  beseech  you,  with 
all  the  consolations  of  this  doctrine  in  your  souls. 
Sad  as  are  the  homes  to  which  you  are  going, 
remember  who  it   is  that   "  sends   you   away.^' 
Remember  that  your  afflictions   <^rise  not  from 
^^  the  dust,"  but  descend  from  the  Throne  of  your 
Father ;  that  they  are  ordained  for  the  trial   of 
that  faith  which  may  end  in  joy,  and  that  patience 
which  may  lead  to  glory ;  that  above  the  shades 
of    present    time,  there  reigneth  the  Father  of 


AFFORDED  BY  THE  GOSPEL.         97 

Eternal  Light ;  and  that  the  noblest  virtues  whicli 
blossom  in  eternity,  are  those  which  have  sprung 
beneath  the  tears  of  adversity.  Keraeniber  still 
more,  that  He  who  now  sitteth  on  the  right  hand 
of  God,  was  only  ^^  made  perfect  by  suffering ;" 
that  He  has  led  the  way  before  you  from  earth  to 
Heaven ;  and  tliat,  in  calling  you  to  be  partakers 
of  his  suffering.  He  calls  you  also  to  be  partakers 
of  his  glory. 

1  add,  my  brethren  !  only  one  farther  reflection. 
We  read  in  the  text,  ^^  That  they  who  had  eaten, 
"  were  about  four  thousand.''  In  the  hour  in 
which  I  speak,  the  number  of  those  that  have  this 
day  approached  the  same  Lord,  and  heard  the 
same  accents  of  salvation,  are  countless  millions 
of  the  family  of  God.  While  we  thus  see  that 
faith  advancing  on  earth,  which  is  to  be  finally 
triumphant  in  Heaven,  let  us  prostrate  ourselves 
in  thankfulness  for  those  means  of  grace  which 
are  given  to  all,  and  for  those  purposes  of  salva- 
tion which  may  yet  unite  all  into  one  fold,  and 
under  one  shepherd.  Let  us  pray  for  them,  and 
for  ourselves,  that  the  real  spirit  of  our  faith  may 
dwell  among  us ;  that  all  of  every  churcli  who 
retire  this  day  from  the  house  of  God,  may  retire 
with  the  consciousness  of  his  peace  upon  their 
souls ;  and  that,  whatever  be  the  home  to  which  they 
return,  they  may  feel  it  as  the  "dwelling  of  God,'' 
and  •nter  into  it  as  into  the  "  gate  of  Heaven." 
13 


SERMON   Vn. 

ON  THE  GENERAL  FAST,  OCTOBER  20,  1803. 

St.  Luke  xxi.  19. 
•'  In  your  patience  possess  ye  your  souls." 

It  was  in  these  words  that  our  Saviour  consol- 
ed his  disciples,  while  he  predicted  to  them  the 
final  ruin  and  desolation  of  Jerusalem.  The  peo- 
ple of  Judea,  confident  in  tlie  letter,  while  they 
were  ignorant  of  the  spirit  of  their  religion,  had 
long  before  ceased  to  listen  to  his  admonitions,  and 
it  was  only  to  the  chosen  few  who  felt  his  truth, 
and  who  understood  his  gospel,  that  he  unveiled 
the  mighty  scenes  which  that  desolation  was  to 
precede.  Amid  ^^  the  wars,  and  the  rumours  of 
'^  wars,"  that  were  to  follow,  he  led  them  to  see  the 
^^  salvation  of  the  world''  approach.  The  destruc- 
tion of  Jerusalem  was  to  be  the  dissolution  of  that 
pale  which  kept  the  Gentiles  from  the  knowledge 
of  the  true  God;  and  he  enjoined  them,  amid  all 
the  dread  calamities  which  were  to  come,  to  "  pos- 

*  Preached  when  the  expectation  of  invasion  was  universal,  and  when  the 
\'6lunteer  corps  were  every  where  forming  in  the  national  defence. 


ON  THE  GENERAL  FAST,  1803.  99 

*^  sess  their  souls''  in  patient  expectation  of  that 
miglity  (lay,  when  his  name  and  his  religion  were 
to  begin  their  triumphal  reign. 

Of  the  many  rtflections  which  this  subject  natu- 
rally excites,  there  is  one  only,  my  brethren,  which 
I  shall  at  present  submit  to  your  consideration  ;  it 
is,  the  difference  between  the  patience  which  Iiuman 
wisdom  teaches,  and  that  which  religion  inspires. 
Wiien  the  moralist  speaks  to  us  of  hardship  or 
danger  ;  when  he  animates  us  to  meet  those  scenes 
of  calamity  wliich  we  may  be  doomed  to  undergo, 
he  tells  us  of  the  dignity  of  our  nature, — the  mag- 
nanimity of  self-denial, — and  the  heroism  of  patient 
suffering.  He  makes  the  world  the  spectator  of 
our  conduct ;  and  summons  us,  by  every  conside- 
ration of  honour  or  of  fame,  to  act  our  part  like 
men,  and  to  deserve  the  sympathy  of  those  who 
surround  us,  by  the  firmness  and  magnanimity 
which  we  display. 

The  patience  which  the  Gospel  inspires  is  of  a 
different,  but  of  a  sublimer  kind.  It  speaks  not  to 
us  of  ourselves, — it  speaks  of  that  great  system  to 
which  we  belong,  and  of  the  ends  to  which  we  con- 
tribute in  that  system. — It  tells  us,  that  every  suf- 
fering to  which  man  is  born,  has  its  final  purpose 
cither  in  individual  or  in  publick  good ; — that  to 
nations,  as  to  individuals,  the  seasons  of  adversity 
are  the  seasons  of  their  highest  virtue ; — that,  ia 
every  situation,  the  discharge  of  the  duties  which 
that  situation  brings  are  the  simple  means  by  whick 


100  ON  THE  GENERAL  FAST,  1803. 

the  mighty  designs  of  nature  are  to  be  carried  on ; — 
and  that,  above  all  the  weakness  or  suffeiing  of 
men,  there  presides  one  Almiglity  Mind,  in  whose 
extended  government  "all  things  are  working  to- 
^^  gether  for  final  good,"  and  who  can  make  even 
^^  the  wratji  of  men  to  praise  him." 

There  are  no  considerations  which  seem  more 
proper  for  the  solemnity  in  which  we  are  at  present 
engaged.  We  are  met  together,  with  all  the  rest 
of  our  land,  to  humble  ourselves  before  the  God  of 
nations ;  to  call  to  mind  what  are  the  duties  de- 
manded of  us,  in  this  hour  of  general  alarm  ;  and 
to  form  those  resolutions  for  the  coming  danger, 
which  become  us  as  citizens,  as  Christians,  and  as 
men. 

It  is,  my  brethren,  in  no  common  hour  of  peril 
that  we  are  now  assembled.  A  contest  more  aw- 
ful than  either  we  or  our  fathers  have  seen,  is 
rapidly  approaching ;  and  that  sun  which  witnesses 
our  meeting,  has  never,  in  his  long  career,  beheld 
a  time  so  pregnant  with  hope  or  despair  to  our 
country.  It  is  no  common  war  in  which  we  are 
engaged,  and  no  common  enemy  we  are  to  oppose. 
It  is  a  war,  in  which  are  put  to  the  hazard  of  the 
sword,  every  blessing  of  our  faith,  every  honour  of 
our  name,  and  every  glory  of  our  country.  It  is  an 
enemy  we  are  now  summoned  to  oppose, — ^wliose 
positions  are  kingdoms,  and  whose  march  is  revo- 
lution ;  before  whom  the  sovereigns  of  Europe  have 
bowed  their  diminished  heads  ;  and  who  seeks 


ON  THE  GENERAL  FAST,  1803.  101 

now,  on  our  northern  shores,  to  extinguish  the  last 
spark  of  order,  of  freedom,  and  of  justice,  among 
mankind. 

Tliere  is  a  folly  in  exaggerating  the  dangers  to 
which  we  are  exposed  : — there  is  an  equal  folly  in 
diminishing  or  under-rating  them.  It  is  the  business 
of  wisdom  to  see  them  as  they  are,  and  to  animate 
our  liearts  to  meet  and  to  encounter  them.  In  the 
season  which  seems  approaching,  there  is  not  one 
of  us  that  will  not  be  called  to  the  exercise  of  pa- 
tience,— to  the  exertion  of  that  principled  magna- 
nimity which  nature  applauds,  and  which  the  Gos- 
pel enjoins.  It  is  in  tlie  solemn  and  sacred  pause 
of  this  day,  that  we  ought  all  to  prepare  ourselves 
for  the  scenes  which  are  to  follow  ;  and,  ere  the 
eventful  conflict  begins,  to  supplicate  from  Heaven 
that  strength  which  may  enable  us  to  endure  it. 

I  speak  not  now,  indeed,  to  the  young,  and  to 
the  brave.* — They  have  taken  their  lofty  resolu- 
tion ;  and,  in  this  hour,  in  the  same  array  in  which 
they  are  to  present  themselves  to  the  enemy,  are 
now  presenting  themselves  before  their  God.  At 
the  first  tread  of  danger,  they  have  risen  in  "legions 
*'  of  armed  men ;"  and  from  every  rank  of  our 
country,  they  have  started  forwards  in  its  defence, 
with  a  gallantry  which  realizes  to  us  tlie  visions  of 
ancient  patriotism,  and  which,  I  trust  will,  in  the 

*  The  volunteers  of  the  Congregation  were  now  regimented,  and  on  this  day 
attended  the  National  Churchss,  by  order  of  GoYerDment, 


102  ON  THE  GENERAL  FAST,  1803. 

end,  more  than  realize  to  us  the  visions  of  ancient 
valour. 

Yet  though  they,  my  brethren,  are  to  undertake 
the  hardships  and  the  dangers  of  war,  there  are 
other  hardships  for  wliich  we  must  prepare  our- 
selves ;  and  there  is  not  a  soul  to  whom  I  speak, 
whom  the  time  does  not  summon  to  patience  and 
to  self-denial.  The  great  and  the  affluent,  they 
whom  ancient  possessions  have  dignified,  or  per- 
sonal industry  hath  enriched,  are  now  called  to 
justify  the  distinction  they  have  enjoyed  ; — to 
suspend  their  usual  pleasures  and  their  usual 
pursuits ; — to  sacrifice  to  the  adversity  of  their 
country,  the  wealth  which  its  prosperity  has 
given  them  ; — and  to  prepare  themselves,  in 
the  spirit  and  in  the  armour  of  their  ancestors, 
for  the  final  conflict  that  is  to  decide  its  glory 
or  its  fall.  The  poor  are  called  to  submit, 
with  the  patience  of  their  faith,  to  increasing  pri- 
vations ;  to  exert  that  noblest  magnanimity,  which 
can  not  only  act  but  suffer  in  the  cause  of  duty ; 
and,  if  the  last  struggle  should  come,  to  bear  in 
their  minds  the  lofty  remembrance  of  what,  in 
many  an  age,  tlieir  fathers  have  done,  and  how,  in 
many  a  field,  their  fathers  have  died. 

The  aged,  alas  !  the  fathers  and  the  mothers  of 
our  people,  are  called  to  severer  duties.  They 
are  called  to  surrender  their  children  to  their 
country  ; — to  suspend  the  workings  even  of  paren- 
tal nature ; — to  silence  the  anxiety  which  years' 


ON  THE  GENERAL  FAST,  18(K{.  101; 

have  nourished ; — anil  to  lend  to  the  general  wel- 
fare, every  thing  wliicli  lias  constituted  their  own. 
Even  that  sex,  whose  first  honour  is  in  the  tender- 
ness of  their  nature,  are  now  called  to  forget  or  to 
disavow  it.  They  are  called  to  hide  every  tear, 
and  stifle  every  apprehension  ; — to  assume  that 
sedate  and  matron  firmness  which  becomes  the 
wives  and  daughters  of  freemen  ;  and  by  their 
voice  (ever  so  powerful  to  tlie  brave)  to  invigorate 
the  spirit  of  national  defence,  and  anticipate  the 
hour  of  national  glory. 

Such,  my  brethren,  are  the  hardships  to  which 
they  are  exposed,  who  are  yet  at  the  greatest  dis- 
tance from  the  actual  scene  of  war  ;  and  such  the 
sacrifices  which  this  eventful  season  demands  of 
all  of  us,  from  the  throne  to  the  cottage.  Yet,  ere 
the  awful  hour  of  conflict  begins, — while  the  winds 
of  winter  are  ushering  in  that  mightier  storm  which 
is  to  convulse  or  remedy  mankind, — let  us,  in  this 
day  of  meditation,  look  to  the  end  of  these  things. 
Let  us  weigii  well  what  may  be  those  designs  of 
Providence,  of  which  we  are  now  called  to  be  the 
agents  and  instruments  ;  let  us  consider  what  it  is 
that  our  patience  of  evil  is  now  to  defend  or  pre- 
serve ;  and  what  are  the  motives  which  summon 
us,  in  the  midst  of  peril  and  alarm,  to  have  the 
"  firm  possession  of  our  souls." 

1.  We  are  summoned,  in  the  first  place,  to  the 
defence  of  our  country,  to  preserve  the  land  whieli 
has  given  us  birth,  and  which  contains  every  thing 


104  ON  THE  GENERAL  FAST,  1803. 

for  which  we  live.  Whatever  may  be  the  evils 
or  suiferings  of  war,  they  have  yet  this  fortunate 
effect, — that  they  rekindle  that  love  of  our  country, 
which  the  safety  of  prosperity,  and  the  habits  of 
private  pursuit,  are  so  apt  to  relax  or  to  impair. 
But,  my  brethren,  if  this  appeal  has  its  influence 
even  over  the  savage  and  the  slave, — in  no  hour  in 
the  history  of  social  life, — in  no  nation  wliich  has 
ever  risen  among  mankind, — did  that  name  ever 
summon  before  man,  so  many  dread  obligations  as 
it  now  does  before  us,  in  this  hour,  and  in  this 
country.  We  have  to  defend  a  land,  unhabituated 
to  shame,  and  hitherto  unknown  to  conquest ; — we 
have  to  defend  the  honours  of  ancient  days,  and  the 
splendour  of  present  greatness  ; — we  have  to  de- 
fend the  opulence  which  the  industry  of  our  fathers 
has  garined,  and  the  freedom  which  their  blood 
has  purchased ; — we  have  to  defend  that  constitu- 
tion which  has  poured  the  prosperities  of  nature 
over  a  barren  land,  and  given  to  our  northern  isle 
a  splendour  unknown  to  the  regions  of  the  sun. 
W  e  have  to  defend  that  faith  in  which  our  infancy 
was  baptized,  and  in  which  we  pray  our  dying 
hours  may  close  ;  which  was  the  "  strength  of  our 
"  fathers,  and  of  the  old  time  before  them,"  and 
which  has  conducted  the  wise  and  the  virtuous  who 
have  preceded  us,  to  glories  beyond  the  limits  of 
mortality. 

S.  We   are  summoned,  in  the  next  place,  my 
brethren,  even  to  a  no])ler  duty  ;  and,  in  the  mighty 


0\  THE  GENERAL  FAST,  1803.  105 

tlesigns  of  Providence,  the  same  valour  whicli  is 
called  to  defend  our  land,  is  the  great  means  by 
which  we  can  relieve  the  sufferini^s  of  the  world 
around  us.  Amid  tliat  wreck  which  we  have  wit- 
nessed of  social  welfare — amid  the  dethronement 
of  kings,  and  the  subjugation  of  kingdoms, — amid 
the  trembling  neutrality  of  some,  and  the  silent 
servility  of  others, — this  countiy  alone  hath  re- 
mained independent  and  undismayed, — and  it  is 
upon  the  valour  of  our  arms,  that  Europe  now 
1,'cposes  its  last  hope  of  returning  liberty,  and  re- 
stored honour.  Among  the  nations  which  surround 
us,  whom  either  the  force  of  the  enemy  has  sub- 
-dued,  or  their  power  intimidated,  there  is  not  one 
virtuous  bosom  that  docs  not  throb  for  our  success^ 
— the  prayers  of  millions  will  follow  our  banners 
into  the  field,  and  the  arm  of  the  soldier  will  be 
blessed  by  innumerable  voices,  which  can  never 
reach  his  ear.  If  we  fail, — if  the  ancient  prowess 
and  intrepidity  of  our  people  is  gone, — there  is 
then  a  long  close  to  all  the  hopes  and  all  the  ho- 
nours of  humanity  ;  over  the  fairest  portion  of  the 
civilized  earth,  the  tide  of  military  despotism  will 
joll,  and  bury,  in  its  sanguinary  flood,  alike  the 
monuments  of  former  greatness,  and  the  promises 
of  future  glory.  But, — if  we  prevail ;  if  the  liearts 
of  our  people  are  exalted  to  the  sublimity  of  the 
contest ;  the  mighty  spell  which  has  enthralled  the 
world  will  be  broken, — the  spirit  of  nature  and  of 
liberty  will  rekindle  ; — and  the  same  blow  which 
Hi 


106  ON  THE  GENERAL  FAST,  1803. 

prostrates  the  enemy  of  our  land,  will  burst  the 
fetters  of  nations,  and  set  free  the  energies  of  an 
injured  world. 

The  historian  of  future  times,  when  he  meditates 
on  the  affairs  of  men,  will  select  for  his  fairest 
theme  the  record  of  our  country  ;  and  he  will  say, 
Such  is  the  glory  of  nations,  when  it  is  founded 
on  virtue ;  when  they  scorn  the  vulgar  "  devices  of 
"  the  human  heart,''  and  follow  only  the  ^*  counsel 
"  of  the  Lord  ;"  when  they  act  from  the  high  am- 
bition of  being  the  ministers  of  that  ^'  Ancient  of 
*^  Days,"  whose  "judgment  is  set"  in  nature,  and 
before  whom  the  "books  of  the  Universe  are  open."" 
8.  There  is  yet,  my  brethren,  in  such  hours,  a 
greater  consideration.     If  there  be  something  in- 
expressibly animating  in  seeing   our  country  as 
the  instrument  of  Heaven  in  the   restoration  of 
happiness   to  mankind  ;    if  to  us   be   given   th© 
sublime  charge,  of  at  once  defending  our  own  land, 
and  guiding   the   destinies   of  human   nature, — 
there  is  something  also  equally  solemn  in  the  re- 
membrance of  the  duties  which  so  high  a  commis- 
sion  involves.     And  there  is  an  instinct  which 
must  teach  us  all,  that  of  our  conduct  in  these 
trying  hours  we  are  finally  to  render  an  account. 
It  is  this  exalted  prospect  which  ought  ever  to  be 
present   to  us,  in  the   seasons  of  difficulty  and 
alarm.     It  is  now,  in  the  midst  of  wars,  and  the 
desolation  of  nations,  that  we  ought  to  fortify  our 
hearts  at  the  shrine  of  religion.    It  is  now  that 


ON  THE  GENERAL  FAST,  1803.  iu. 

we  arc  to  vveigli  the  duties  which  are  demanded 
of  us  by  Heaven  and  earth  ;  and  to  consider 
whether,  in  that  last  day,  we  are  to  appear  as 
cowards  to  our  country  and  our  faith,  and  as  pur- 
chasing an  inglorious  safety,  by  the  sacrifice  of 
every  duty,  and  every  honour  of  man, — or  as  the 
friends  of  order,  of  liberty,  and  of  religion,  and 
allied  to  those  glorious  spirits  who  have  been  the 
servants  of  God,  and  the  benefactors  of  mankind. 
Over  the  conflict  which  is  to  ensue,  let  it  never  be 
forgotten,  that  greater  eyes  than  those  of  man  will 
be  present ;  and  let  every  man  that  draws  the 
sword  of  defence  remember,  that  he  is  not  only 
defending  the  liberties  of  his  country,  but  the  laws 
of  his  God. 

Let,  then,  the  young  and  the  brave  of  our  peo- 
ple go  forth,  with  hearts  inaccessible  to  fear,  and 
imdoubting  of  their  cause.  Let  them  look  back 
into  time,  and  see  the  shades  of  their  ancestors 
tising  before  them,  and  exhorting  them  to  the  com- 
bat. Let  them  look  around  them  and  see  a  sub- 
jugated world  the  witnesses  of  their  contest,  and 
the  partners  in  their  success.  Let  them  look  for- 
ward into  futurity,  and  see  posterity  prostrated 
before  them,  and  all  the  honours  and  happiness 
of  man  dependent  upon  the  firmness  of  their  hearts, 
and  the  vigour  of  their  arms.  Yes  !  let  them  go 
forth,  and  pour  around  our  isle  a  living  barrier  to 
injustice  and  ambition ;  and,  when  that  tide  of 
anarchy  wh'ch  has  overfiowed  the  world  rolls  its 


108  ON  THE  GmERAL  FAST,  18Q2. 

last  waves  to  our  shores,  let  them  shew  to  tiic  fo& 
as  impenetrable  a  front,  as  the  rocks  of  our  landi 
to  the  storms  of  the  ocean. 

And  Thou,  O  God  of  Nations,  and  Lord  of 
every  host,  ^Mvithout  whom  nothing  is  strong,  and 
<^  nothing  is  holy,''  if  it  is  with  such  views  that 
thy  people  of  this  laud  now  assemble  before  Thee  ; 
— if  they  are,  indeed,  armed  in  defence  of  Thy 
eternal  laws,  and  in  the  cause  of  the  everlasting 
gospel; — if  Thou  hast  called  them  to  be  the  in- 
struments of  thy  Providence  for  the  future  welfare 
of  mankind,  let  thy  spirit  go  forth  with  them,, 
which  of  old  went  forth  with  the  hrave  and  the 
virtuous  of  thine  own  people.  Awaken  in  their 
hearts  tbat  love  of  Thee,  and  of  thy  laws,  and 
pour  into  their  souls  that  contempt  of  danger  and 
of  death,  which  befit  those  whom  thy  Omniscient 
will  has  summoned  to  scenes  of  difficulty  and 
alarm  ;  and,  while  thy  Providence  has  so  long 
watched  over  this  favoured  land,  and  while  it  now 
remains  as  the  beacon  to  lead  mankind  again  to 
happiness  and  truth, — grant  that  thy  people  may 
feel  the  extent  of  their  duties  !  and  know,  that, 
while  they  are  defending  the  independence  of  their 
own  country,  they  are  defending  the  sacred  cause 
of  order,  of  virtue,  and  of  religion,  throughout  the 
world. 


SERMON   VIII. 


ON  THE  RELIGIOUS  AND  MOTAL  ENDS  OF  KNOWLEDGE.* 


Proverbb  iii.  13,  «$i'c. 

"  Happy  is  the  man  that  findeth  wisdom,  and  the  man  that  gcttefh 
iindnrstanding  ! — She  is  more  precious  than  rubies,  and  ail  the 
things  thou  canst  desire  arc  not  to  be  compared  unto  her.  Length 
of  days  is  in  her  right  l)and  ;  and  in  her  left  hand  riches  and  hon- 
our. Her  ways  are  ways  of  pleasantness,  and  all  her  paths  are 
peace." 

In  these  beautiful  words  Solomon  describes  the 
eifects  of  wisdom  upon  the  honour  and  happiness 
of  human  life. — However  warm  or  magnificent 
the  praise  which  lie  bestows,  it  is  not  the  extrava- 
gance of  youthful  enthusiasm.  It  is  the  sober 
decision  of  age  and  experience  :  the  opinion  of 
one  wlio  had  known  every  pleasure  which  life 
could  offer  him  ;  and  who,  in  his  grey  hairs,  tells 
the  successor  to  his  throne,  that  ^^  wisdom  is  more 
"  precious"  than  all  the  splendours  which  sur- 
round it,  and  "  that  all  the  things  he  could  desire, 
*^  are  not  to  be  compared  unto  her.*' 

*  Preached  at  the  conameDcerrent  of  tUo  Academical  Session  In  Edjnburjii. 


MO  ON  THE  RELIGIOUS  AND 

I  have  chosen  these  words,  my  brethren,  for 
«ur  present  consideration,  because  there  appears 
something  in  the  time  not  unsuitable  to  their  ap- 
plication. The  season  has  now  returned,  when 
the  annual  business  of  education  again  begins  ; 
when,  for  some  months  to  come,  the  young  of  our 
congregation  are  to  be  employed  in  the  acquisition 
of  knowledge ;  and  when  tliis  city  itself  exhibits 
one  of  its  most  honourable  distinctions, — that  of 
contributing  to  the  instruction  and  improvement 
of  youth.  To  the  young  themselves,  it  is  the  com- 
mencement of  the  most  important  and  eventful 
period  of  their  lives  ;  and  to  us,  my  elder  brethren, 
it  is  a  scene  which  we  can  scarcely  regard,  with- 
out many  feelings  of  interest  and  tenderness.  It 
reminds  us  of  that  beautiful  expression  of  anti- 
quity, "  that  the  young  among  the  people  are  lik& 
"the  spring  amid  the  seasons.'^  It  leads  even 
the  most  insensible  of  us,  to  form  some  kind  wish 
that  the  fruits  of  their  harvest  may  correspond  to 
the  opening  of  their  spring  ;  and  it  leads  us,  too, 
very  naturally,  to  the  remembrance  of  our  own 
youth  ;  and,  while  we  think  what  are  the  duties 
of  the  present  young,  to  consider  what  we  our- 
selves have  been  doing  since  that  important  era 
has  passed  to  us.  At  this  time,  therefore,  I  trust  I 
shall  be  forgiven,  if  I  dedicate  this  discourse  to 
the  young  of  our  congregation ; — if  I  avail  myself 
of  the  opportunity  of  the  season,  to  encourage  them 
in  the  pursuits  which  they  have  begun; — and  if  I 


MORAL  ENDS  OP  KNOWLEDCfe.  Ill 

conclude,  by  pointing  out  to  them  the  great  ends 
to  which  all  knowledge  and  wisdom  ought  finally 
to  be  applied. 

I.    In   every  period  of  life,   the  acquisition  of 
knowledge  is  one  of  the  most  pleasing  employ- 
ments of  the  human  mind.     But  in  youth  there 
are   circumstances   which  make  it  productive  of 
higher  enjoyment.     It  is  then  that  every  thing  has 
the  charm   of  novelty  ;  that  curiosity  and  fancy 
are  awake;  and  that  the  heart  swells  with   Ihc 
anticipations  of  future  eminence  and  utility.  Even 
in  those  lower   branches  of  instruction  which  we 
call   mere  accomplishments,    there   is   something 
always  pleasing  to  the  young  in  their  acquisition. 
They  seem  to  become  every  well-educated  person, 
— they  adorn,  if  they  do  not  dignify  humanity  ; 
and,  what  is  far  more,  while  they  give  an  elegant 
employment  to  the  hours  of  leisure  and  relaxation, 
they  afford  a  means  of  contributing  to  the  purity 
and  innocence  of  domestick  life.     But  in  the  ac- 
quisition of  knowledge  of  a  higher  kind, — in  the 
hours  when  the  young  gradually  begin  the  study 
of  the  laws  of  nature,  and  of  the  faculties  of  the 
human  mind,  or  of  the  magnificent  revelations  of 
the  Gospel, — there  is  a  pleasure  of  a  sublimer  na- 
ture.     The  cloud  which,   in  their  infant  years, 
seemed  to  cover  nature  from  their  view,  begins 
gradually  to  resolve.     Tiie  world  in  which  they 
are  placed,  opens  with  all  its  wonders  upon  their 
eye;   their  powers  of  attention  and  observation 


112  ON  THE  RELIGIOUS  AND 

seem  to  expand  with  tlie  scene  before  them  ;  and, 
while  they  see,  for  the  first  time,  the  immensity  of 
the  universe  of  God,  and  mark  tlie  majestick  sim- 
plicity of  those  laws  by  which  its  operations  are 
conducted,  they  feel  as  if  they  were  awakened  to  a 
higher  species  of  being,  and  admitted  into  nearer 
intercourse  with  the  Author  of  Nature.  It  is  this 
period,  of  all  others,  accordingly,  that  most  deter- 
mines our  hopes  or  fears  of  the  future  fate  of  the 
young.  To  feel  no  joy  in  such  pursuits  ; — to  lis- 
ten carelessly  to  the  voice  which  brings  such  mag- 
nificent instruction  ;^to  see  the  veil  raised  which 
conceals  the  counsels  of  the  Deity,  and  to  shew 
no  emotion  at  the  discovery,  are  symptoms  of  a 
weak  and  torpid  spirit, — of  a  mind  unworthy  of 
the  advantages  it  possesses,  and  which  is  fitted 
only  for  the  humility  of  sensual  and  ignoble  plea- 
sure. Of  those,  on  the  contrary,  who  distinguish 
themselves  by  the  love  of  knowledge, — who  follow 
with  ardour  the  career  that  is  opened  to  thein,  we 
are  apt  to  form  the  most  honourable  presages. 
It  is  the  character  natural  to  youth,  and  which, 
therefore,  promises  well  of  their  maturity.  We 
foresee  for  them,  at  least,  a  life  of  pure  and  virtu- 
ous enjoyment,  and  we  are  willing  to  anticipate  no 
coiiunon  share  of  future  usefulness  and  splendour. 

In  the  second  place,  the  pursuits  of  knowledge 
lead  not  only  to  happiness  but  to  honour. 
*•  Length  of  days,"  in  the  words  of  the  text,  *^  is 
^'  in  her  right  hand,  and  in  her  left  are  riches  and 


MORAL  ENDS  OF  KNOWLEDGE.  113 

*'  lionoiir."  It  is  lionoiiiaMe  to  excel  even  in  the 
most  trilling  species  of  knowledge,  in  those  which 
can  amuse  only  the  passing  hour.  It  is  more  hon- 
ourable to  excel  in  those  different  branches  of 
science  which  are  connected  with  the  liberal  pro- 
fessions of  life,  and  which  tend  so  much  to  the 
dignity  and  well-being  of  humanity.  It  is  the 
means  of  raising  the  most  obscure  to  esteem  and 
attention  ;  it  opens  to  the  just  ambition  of  youth, 
some  of  the  most  distinguished  and  respected,  situ- 
ations in  society  ;  and  it  places  them  there,  with 
the  consoling  reflection,  that  it  is  to  their  own  in- 
dustry and.  labour,  in  the  providence  of  God,  that 
they  are  alone  indebted  for  them.  But,  to  excel 
in  the  higher  attainments  of  knowledge, — to  be 
distinguished  in  those  greater  pursuits  which  have 
commanded  the  attention,  and  exhausted  the  abili- 
ties of  the  wise  in  every  former  age, — is  perhaps, 
of  all  the  distinctions  of  human  understanding,  the 
most  honourable  and  grateful.  When  we  look  back 
upon  the  great  men  who  have  gone  before  us  in 
every  path  of  glory,  we  feel  our  eye  turn  from  the 
career  of  war  and  of  ambition,  and  involuntarily 
rest  upon  those  who  have  displayed  the  great  truths 
of  religion,  who  have  investigated  the  laws  of  so- 
cial welfare,  or  extended  the  sphere  of  human 
knowledge.  These  are  honours,  we  feel,  which 
have  been  gained  without  a  crime,  and  which  can 
be  enjoyed  without  remorse.  They  are  honours 
also  which  can  never  die, — which  can  shed  luslre 
15 


114  Oi\  THE  RELIGIOUS  AND 

even  upon  the  humblest  head, — and  to  wliieh  the 
young  of  every  succeedhig  age  will  look  up,  as 
their  brightest  incentives  to  the  pursuit  of  virtuous 
fame. 

II.    But   whatever    may   be  the   attractions  of 
wisdom,  or  the  rewards  which  the  Almighty  hath 
given  to  its  pursuit,  it  is  still  farther  to  be  remem- 
bered, that  it  is  at  best  only  a  means  to  an  end ; 
that  knowledge  of  every  kind  supposes  some  use 
to  which  it  is  to  be  applied  ;  and  that,  in  the  sim- 
ple language  of  the  gospel,  it  is  a  talent,   (though  a 
talent  of  the  noblest  kind,)  for  which  the  possessor 
is  finally  to  account.     I  would  to  God,  my  bre- 
thren, that  the  history  of  science  had  rendered  this 
observation   unnecessary.      Yet,   you    all   know, 
that  there  are  shades  which  darken  the  history  of 
human  improvement :  that  there  have  been,   and 
even  now,  alas !   are,  men   who  have   employed 
genius  and  knowledge  to  the  most  fatal  purposes  ; 
who  have  employed  them  to  corrupt  the  morals  of 
private  life  ;  to  undermine  the  foundations  of  social 
order ;  and,  with  a  still  more  gigantick  malignity, 
have  turned  the  powers  which  Heaven  gave  them 
asainst  itself,   and  endeavoured  to  wrest  from  the 
family  of  God,  that  belief  in  his  providence,  and 
that  hope  in  his  mercy,  which  are  necessary  ingre- 
dients in  our  being,  and  which  alone  can  animate 
the  exertions,  or  console   the  woe    of  humanity. 
Far,  0  God !  from  us,  and  from  the  young  of  our 
people,  be  these  fatal  delusions  !  Yet  it  is  wise  in 


MORAL  ENDS  OF  KNOWLEDGE.  115 

you,  my  young  friends,  to  confirm  tlicse  natural 
feelings  by  principle,  and,  in  preparing  yourselves 
to  employ  your  knowledge,  to  consider  the  great 
ends,  which,  in  this  employment,  both  God  and 
man  demand  of  you. 

1.  The  first  end  to  which  all  wisdom  or  know- 
ledge ought  to  be  employed,  is  to  illustrate  the 
ivisdom  or  goodness  of  the  Father  of  Nature. 
Every  science  that  is  cultivated  by  men  leads 
naturally  to  religious  thought,  from  the  study  of 
the  plant  that  grows  beneath  our  feet,  to  that  of 
the  Host  of  Heaven  above  us,  who  perform  their 
stated  revolutions  in  majestick  silence  amid  the 
expanse  of  infinity.  When,  in  the  youth  of  Moses, 
^*  the  Lord  appeared  to  him  in  Horeb,"  a  voice 
was  heard,  saying,  "  draw  nigh  hither,  and  put  off 
*^  thy  shoes  from  oif  thy  feet,  for  the  place  where 
^^  thou  standest  is  holy  ground."  It  is  with 
such  a  reverential  awe  that  every  great  or  elevated 
mind  will  approach  to  the  study  of  nature,  and 
with  such  feelings  of  adoration  and  gratitude,  that 
he  will  receive  the  illumination  that  gradually 
opens  upon  his  soul.  It  is  not  the  lifeless  mass 
of  matter,  he  will  then  feel,  that  he  is  examining, 
— it  is  the  mighty  machine  of  Eternal  Wisdom  : 
the  workmanship  of  him,  ^'  in  whom  every  thing 
'^  lives,  and  moves,  and  has  its  being."'  Under 
an  aspect  of  this  kind,  it  is  impossible  to  pursue 
knowledge  without  mingling  with  it  the  most  ele- 
vated sentiments  of  devotion  ; — it  is  impossible  to 


116  ON  THE  RELIGIOUS  AND 

perceive  the  laws  of  nature  without  perceiving,  at 
the  same  time,  the  presence  and  the  Providence 
of  the  Lawgiver : — and  thus  it  is  that,  in  every 
age,  the  evidences  of  religion  have  advanced  with 
the  progress  of  true  philosophy  ;  and  that  science, 
in  erecting  a  monument  to  herself,  has,  at  the 
same  time,  erected  an  altar  to  the  Deity.  The 
knowledge  of  nature,  however,  you  know,  my 
young  brethren,  is  not  exhausted.  There  are 
many  great  discoveries  yet  awaiting  the  labours 
of  science  ;  and  with  them,  there  are  also  awaiting 
to  humanity  many  additional  proofs  of  the  wisdom 
and  benevolence  "  of  Him  that  made  us."  To 
the  hope  of  these  great  discoveries,  few,  indeed, 
can  pretend  : — yet  let  it  ever  be  remembered,  that 
he  who  can  trace  any  one  new  fact,  or  can  exem- 
plify any  one  new  instance  of  divine  wisdom  or 
benevolence  in  the  system  of  nature,  has  not  lived 
in  vain ;  that  he  has  added  to  the  sum  of  human 
knowledge ;  and,  what  is  far  more,  that  he  has 
added  to  the  evidence  of  those  greater  truths, 
upon  which  the  happiness  of  time  and  eternity 
depends. 

2.  The  second  great  end  to  which  all  know- 
ledge ought  to  be  employed,  is  to  the  welfare  of 
humanity.  Every  science  is  the  foundation  of 
some  art,  beneficial  to  men ;  and  while  the  study 
of  it  leads  us  to  see  the  beneficence  of  the  laws  of 
nature,  it  calls  upon  us  also  to  follow  the  great 
end  of  the  Father  of  Nature  in  their  employment 


MORAL  ENDS  OF  KNOWLEDGE.  ^^^ 

and  application.  I  need  not  say,  my  brethren, 
what  a  field  is  tluis  opened  to  the  benevolence  of 
knowledge  :  I  need  not  tell  you,  that  in  every 
department  of  learning  there  is  good  to  be  done 
to  mankind  :  I  need  not  remind  you,  that  the  age 
in  which  we  live  has  given  us  the  noblest  exam- 
ples of  this  kind,  and  that  science  now  finds  its 
highest  glory  in  improving  the  condition,  or  in 
allaying  the  miseries  of  humanity.  But  there  is 
one  thing  of  which  it  is  proper  ever  to  remind  you, 
because  the  modesty  of  knowledge  often  leads  us 
to  forget  it, — and  that  is,  that  the  power  of  scien- 
tifick  benevolence  is  far  greater  tlian  that  of  ail 
others,  to  the  welfare  of  society.  The  benevolence 
of  the  great,  or  the  opulent,  however  eminent  it 
may  be,  perishes  with  themselves.  The  benevo- 
lence even  of  sovereigns  is  limited  to  the  narrow 
boundary  of  human  life  ;  and  not  unfrequently  is 
succeeded  by  different  and  discordant  counsels. 
But  the  benevolence  of  knowledge  is  of  a  kind  as 
extensive  as  the  race  of  man,  and  as  permanent  as 
the  existence  of  society.  He,  in  whatever  situa- 
tion he  may  be,  who,  in  the  study  of  science,  has 
discovered  a  new  means  of  alleviating  pain,  or  of 
remedying  disease ;  who  has  described  a  wiser 
method  of  preventing  poverty,  or  of  shielding  mis- 
fortune ;  who  has  suggested  additional  means  of 
increasing  or  improving  the  beneficent  produc- 
tions of  nature,  has  left  a  memorial  of  himself, 
which  can  never  be  forgotten  ;  which  will  commu- 


118  ON  THE  RELIGIOUS  AND 

nicate  happiness  to  ages  yet  unborn  ;  and  which, 
in  the  eniphatiek  language  of  scripture,  renders  him 
a  "fellow- worker"  with  God  himself,  in  the  im- 
provement of  his  Creation. 

3.  The  third  great  end  of  all  knowledge  is  the 
improvement  and  exaltation  of  our  own  minds. 
It  was  the  voice  of  the  apostle,  "  What  manner  of 
"  men  ought  ye  to  be,  to  whom  the  truths  of  the 
^^  Gospel  have  come  ?"  It  is  the  voice  of  nature 
also,  "  What  manner  of  men  ought  ye  to  be,  to 
^^  whom  the  treasures  of  wisdom  are  opened  ?'' 
Of  all  the^  spectacles,  indeed,  which  life  can  offer 
us,  there  is  none  more  painful,  or  unnatural,  than 
that  of  the  union  of  vice  with  knowledge.  It 
counteracts  the  great  designs  of  God  in  the  dis- 
tribution of  wisdom  ;  and  it  assimilates  men,  not 
to  the  usual  characters  of  human  frailty,  but  to 
those  dark  and  malignant  spirits  who  fell  from 
Heaven,  and  who  excel  in  knowledge,  only  that 
they  may  employ  it  in  malevolence.  To  the  wise 
and  virtuous  man,  on  the  contrary, — to  him  whose 
moral  attainments  have  kept  pace  with  his  intel- 
lectual, and  who  has  employed  the  great  talent 
with  which  he  is  entrusted  to  the  glory  of  God, 
and  to  the  good  of  humanity, — are  presented  the 
sublimest  prospects  that  mortality  can  know. 
"  In  my  father's  house,"  says  our  Saviour,  "  are 
^^  many  mansions  ;" — mansions,  we  may  dare  to 
interpret,  fitted  to  the  different  powers  that  life  has 
acquired,  and  to  the  uses  to  which  they  have  been 


MORAL  ENDS  OF  KNOWLEDGE.  119 

jipplied.  Of  that  great  scene,  indeed,  Avhieh 
awaits  all,  whether  ignorant  or  wise,  it  becomes 
us  to  think  with  reverential  awe.  Yet  we  know, 
"that  it  will  then  be  well  with  tlie  good,  though 
"  it  will  not  be  well  with  the  wicked  ;"  and  we 
are  led,  by  an  instinctive  anticipation,  to  suppose 
that  they  who  here  have  excelled  in  wisdom  and 
benevolence,  will  be  rewarded  with  higher  objects, 
upon  which  they  may  be  employed,  and  admitted 
into  uearer  prospects  of  the  government  of  Eternal 
Wisdom.  "In  his  light  they  shall  see  light." 
^'  They  shall  see  Him,  not  as  through  a  glass,  dark- 
^'  ly ;  but  as  he  is.  They  shall  know,  even  as 
"  they  themselves  are  known." 

Such,  my  young  brethren,  are  the  great  ends  to 
which  all  wisdom  p.n.l  knowledge  ought  to  be  em- 
ployed ;  and  such,  also,  the  rewards,  both  in  time 
and  eternity,  Vvlsich  the  Author  of  Wisdom  hath 
bestowed  upon  the  faithful  of  his  people.  It  is 
upon  this  dignified  and  animating  scene  that  you 
are  now  entering : — it  is  to  these  rewards  that  by 
patience  and  industry  you  may  advance.  I  can 
add  nothing  to  the  magnificence  of  these  prospects  : 
yet  there  is  one  additional  reflection  which  I  would 
wish,  at  this  time,  to  recall  to  your  remembrance. 

In  the  scene  of  early  life  which  you  have  left, 
you  have  all,  probably,  left  some  companions  of 
your  youthful  years,  who  cannot  follow  you  here : 
some  to  whom,  with  all  their  talents,  poverty  for- 
bids the  hope  of  further  instruction,  and  who  must 


120  ON  THE  RELIGIOUS  ENDS,  &c. 

be  doomed  to  pass  their  lives  in  ignorance  and 
obscurity.  Is  there  here,  then,  no  call  upon  you 
to  justify  the  fortunate  superiority  which  you  pos- 
sess? And,  if  the  Providence  of  the  Almighty 
hath  so  early  distinguished  you,  is  there  no  claim 
which  He,  too,  has  upon  your  labour  and  your  in- 
dustry? In  looking  back  upon  this  early  scene, 
there  are,  perhaps,  other  more  interesting  images 
that  will  return  to  your  remembrance.  There  are 
friends  you  will  see,  who  now  anxiously  wait  your 
course ; — there  are  relations  w^ho  are  eager  to  an- 
ticipate your  honour  and  success ; — there  are 
parents,  perhaps,  who  await  your  hands  to  crown 
their  grey  hairs  with  a  crown  of  joy.  I  will  not  go 
farther.  May  these,  and  every  other  remembrance 
befitting  the  generosity  of  youth,  be  present  with 
you  in  every  hour,  to  animate  and  invigorate  the 
resolutions  of  your  minds  ! — May  the  blessing  of 
Him  who  called  the  young  unto  Him,  and  blessed 
them,  descend  upon  all  your  heads.  And  may 
you  now  so  weigh  the  importance  of  the  great 
journey  upon  which  you  are  entering,  that  it  may 
terminate  "in  honour,  and  glory,  and  immor- 
"tality!" 


SERMON   IX. 

eONTINUATION  OF  THE  SAME  SUBJECT,  WITH  REGARD  TO  THE 
YOUNG  IN  THE  HIGHER  CONDITIONS  OF  LIFE. 


Pbovebbs  iii.  13,  &c. 

"  Happy  i«  the  inau  thai  fuuleth  wisdom,  and  the  man  that  gettetfi 
understanding ! — She  is  more  precious  than  ru1)ies,  and  all  the 
things  thou  canst  desire  are  not  to  be  compared  unto  her.  Length 
of  days  is  in  her  riglit  hand  ;  and  in  her  lelt  hand  riches  and  hon- 
our. Her  ways  are  ways  of  pleasantness,  and  all  her  paths  are 
peace." 

In  the  preceding  discourse,  1  addressed  my- 
self  to  the  young  who  are  engaged  iji  the  labours 
of  education,  and  who  are  preparing  themselves 
to  enter  upon  the  various  liberal  professions  of 
society.  To  them  life,  at  present,  indeed,  "  is 
<^  full  of  labour  ;" — but  of  a  labour  to  whicli  the 
providence  of  God  hath  allotted  high  rewards  : — 
the  hopes  of  honour, — the  promise  of  usefulness, 
— and  the  lofty  distinction  of  contributing,  in  their 
day,  to  the  glory  of  God,  and  the  good  of  human 
kind.  To  such  objects  of  legitimate  ambition,  the 
generous  bosom  of  youth  is  always  open ;  and 
there  is,  perhaps,  no  duty  of  the  parent  or  the  in- 
16 


122  ON  THE  RELIGIOUS  AND 

strueter  more  important,  than  to  present  perpetually 
to  their  eyes,  the  splendid  rewards  which  Heaven 
has  in  store,  to  repay  the  labours  of  their  early 
days. 

There  is  one  description  of  the  young,  however, 
to  whom  observations  of  this  kind  may  not  seem  so 
immediately  to  apply  ; — the  young,  I  mean,  who 
are  born  to  rank  or  opulence,  and  who  appear  not 
to  be  called  upon,  by  any  necessity  of  their  con- 
dition, for  labour.     To  them,  life  seems  to  open 
with  very  different  prospects  than  to  the  generality 
of  men.     No  imperious  duty  summons  them  to  toil, 
— no  stern  necessity  compels  them  to  provide  for 
the  wants  of  the  passing  day.     It  is  to  a  scene 
rather  of  inactivity  and  joy  that  they  appear  to  be 
called,  where  gayety  invites  them  to  enjoyment  un- 
der a  thousand  forms ;  and  where,  without  labour- 
ing themselves,  they  may  command  the  labours  of 
the  rest  of  the  world  around  them.  It  is  to  the  young 
of  this  description  of  our  congregation  that  I  now 
wish  particularly  to  address  myself.     The  same 
season  which  is  opening  to  the  rest  of  the  young 
around  them  a  new  course  of  activity  and  labour, 
is  opening  to  them  a  scene  of  pleasure,  and,  per- 
haps, of  thoughtless   dissipation. — Let   me  then 
entreat  them  for  a  moment  to  pause,  on  their  en- 
trance into  life ; — to  consider   what  is  the  real 
aspect  of  their  advantages  or  condition ;  and  to 
weigh  the  ends  for  which  life  itself  was  given,  and 
for  which  every  noble  mind  would  wish  to  live. 


MORAL  ENDS  OF  KNOWLEDGE.  123 

I.  I  may  observe  then,  in  the  first  place,  that  this 
exemption  from  labour  and  exertion,  which  the 
higher  classes  of  society  are  thought  to  enjoy,  is 
much  more  apparent  than  real ;  and  that  in  truth 
it  extends  itself  only  to  the  lowest  wants  of  human 
nature.  They  are  exempted,  indeed,  from  the  care 
of  "  gaining  their  bread  by  the  sweat  of  their 
"  brow,"  from  the  labouring  day,  and  the  scanty 
sleep,  by  which  alone  the  poor  man  can  provide 
for  the  wants  of  his  family.  But  they  are  called 
to  other  labours  of  no  less  imperious  a  kind  ;  and 
which,  from  this  circumstance  itself,  possess  a 
higher  obligation  upon  every  generous  mind,  that 
they  arc  more  honourable  and  more  exalted. 

1.  They  are  called,  in  the  first  place,  to  the  cul- 
tivation of  the  mind, — to  the  acquisition  of  know- 
ledge, and  the  improvement  of  the  understanding. 
In  the  unbroken  leisure  of  their  youth, — in  the  fa- 
cilities of  studies  and  education, — in  the  society 
of  whatever  is  respectable  or  distinguished  among 
men, — they  enjoy  advantages  which  fall  to  the  lot 
of  few  of  the  human  race  ;  and  the  expectation  of 
the  world  unites  itself  with  the  prayer  of  the  parent, 
that  they  may  enter  upon  active  life,  worthy  of  the 
discipline  which  has  been  employed  to  form  them. 

2.  They  are  called,  in  the  second  place,  to  the 
noblest  and  most  extensive  duties  which  society 
demands.  They  are  called  to  lead  the  arms  of 
their  country  in  war  ; — to  dispense  its  justice,  and 
to  preserve  its  tranquillity  in  the  seasons  of  peace. 


!24  ON  THE  RELIGI0U8  AND 

They  are  called,  as  possessors  of  property,  to  the 
most  interesting  office  which  the  citizen  can  fill, — 
to  improve  the  liounty  of  nature,  and  add  to  the 
prosperity  of  their  nation  ; — to  be  the  friends  and 
the  fathers  of  all  that  dwell  in  their  land, — to  be 
the  patrons  of  rural  industry, — the  rewarders  of 
humble  merit,— and,  even  in  the  most  desert  cor- 
ners of  tiieir  country,  to  diffuse  happiness  and 
knowledge  among  the  habitations  of  men.  They 
are  called,  still  farther,  in  many  cases,  to  a  great- 
er duty  ;  to  enter  into  the  senate  of  their  country, 
— to  share  in  the  deliberations  by  which  its  mis- 
fortunes may  be  remedied, — its  prosperity  extend- 
ed,— its  honours  maintained  : — to  extend  the  firm 
hand,  which,  amidst  popular  commotion,  can  hold 
the  balance  of  power  and  of  liberty, — and  to  exert 
the  intrepid  mind,  which  can  disregard  all  the 
clamours  of  party,  while  it  is  labouring  for  the 
good  of  the  whole. 

3.  They  are  called,  in  the  last  place,  to  be  the 
arbiters  of  social  life,  and  the  models  of  national 
manners.  It  is  to  this  description  of  society,  as 
we  all  know,  that  the  rest  naturally  look  up ; 
from  them  they  borrow  their  fashions,  their  habits, 
and  not  unfrequently  their  principles  ;  and  it  is 
their  conduct  of  this  easy  but  important  dominion, 
that  determines,  in  a  great  measure,  the  character 
and  the  morality  of  their  age.  They  are  boru 
the  legislators  of  publick  manners ;  and  it  is  their 
example,  (and  let  me  add,  in  a  peculiar  manner, 


MORAL  ENDS  OF  KNOWLEDGE.  12  j 

the  example  of  the  female  great,,)  which  is  to  im- 
press its  character  upon  tlie  manners  of  the  world 
around  them,  and  to  render  them  either  pious  or 
profligate,  virtuous  or  vicious,  dignified  or  base. 

II.  Such,  then,  are  the  duties  wliich  arc  de- 
manded of  the  great  and  the  opulent, — tlie  im- 
portant uses  which,  by  the  Providence  of  God, 
they  serve  in  the  societies  of  men  ;  and  such, 
accordingly,  my  young  friends,  are  the  solemn 
duties  to  which,  in  the  course  of  time,  you  are  to 
be  called.  It  is  tlie  great  business  of  youth,  to 
prepare  for  the  course  which  it  is  to  follow ;  to 
acquire  the  knowledge,  and  to  attain  the  habits 
which  the  scenes  of  future  life  may  require ;  and. 
above  all,  by  anticipating  the  duties  which  God 
and  Man  are  to  demand,  to  establish  that  charac- 
ter and  temper  of  mind  which  may  suit  the  situa- 
tion it  is  destined  to  fill,  and  render  life  honoura- 
ble, and  useful,  and  happy.  Suffer  me  then,  my 
young  friends,  upon  this  principle,  to  suggest  to 
you  some  of  those  considerations  which  become 
the  peculiar  prospects  wliich  open  upon  you,  and 
which  befit  those  generous  hours  of  youth  which 
you  now  enjoy. 

1.  There  is  something,  in  the  first  place,  very 
striking  to  every  virtuous  or  elevated  mind,  in  the 
importance  of  the  station  to  which  it  is  called,  and 
the  magnitude  of  the  duties  which  are  demanded 
of  it.  The  great  body  of  mankind  are  doomed  to 
pass  theh'  days  in  still  obscurity,  uncheered  by 


126  ON  THE  RELIGIOUS  AND 

the  observation  of  the  world,  and  unapplauded 
even  for  the  greatest  virtues  of  which  their  situa- 
tion  can  admit.  On  their  humble  path,  no  eye  of 
curiosity  is  turned, — no  sympathizing  interest  at- 
tends ; — and  all  the  exertions  of  patience,  of  mag- 
nanimity, and  of  self-denial,  which  their  condition 
incessantly  demands,  must  pass  without  any  other 
approbation  than  that  of  their  own  hearts,  and  that 
of  him  ^^  wlio  is  greater  than  their  hearts,  and  who 
^^  knoweth  all  things." 

It  is  not  thus  with  those  that  are  born  to  rank 
and  opulence.     They  enter  upon   the  theatre  of 
life  with    every  opinion  and  every  prejudice  in 
their  favour. — Their  first  steps  are  marked  by  the 
sympathy  of  innumerable  spectators  ;  and  their 
earliest  dawn  of  talents  or  of  virtue,  is  hailed  by 
the  applause    and    expectation  of  their  country. 
The  virbies,  too,  which  life  demands  of   them, 
are  not  those  which  shrink  from  the  eye  of  day, 
and  which  are  rewarded  only  by  the  testimony  of 
conscience.     It  is  not  the  austere,  the  passive,  or 
the  solitary  virtues  which  they  are  called  upon  to 
exhibit ;  it  is  the  prominent,  the  popular,  and  the 
commanding ; — the  intrepidity  of  the  warriour,  the 
uprightness  of  the  magistrate,  the  independence  of 
the  statesman ; — in  private  life,the  wide  beneficence 
which  belongs  to  landed -property,  or  the  innume- 
rable generosities  which  await  commercial  wealth  5 
and,  even  in  the  bosom  of  domestick   life,  that 
system  of  pure  but  dignified  manners,  which  eiino- 


MORAL  ENDS  OF  KNOWLEDGE.  1*i7 

bles  while  it  improves  tlie  society  of  men,  and 
which  every  where  diffuses  over  rank  and  greatness 
their  most    enviable   charm.      Such,   my    young 
friends,  are  the  qualities  of  mind   which  the  pro- 
vidence of  God  may  one  day  call  you  to  display ; 
— qualities,  surely,  which  accord  with  the  noblest 
ambition  of  youth  ;  which  it  is  now  your  proudest 
virtue  to  anticipate  ;  and  for  the  neglect  of  which, 
in  these  invaluable  years  of  education,  there  is 
nothing  under  Heaven  which  can  make  any  com- 
pensation.    You  are  called,  like  all   the  rest  of 
your  brethren,  to  labour.     In  the   great  scene  of 
human  life,  you  have   the  most  important  part  to 
perform.     But,  in  proportion  to  the  importance  of 
that  part,  are  the  motives  and  the  rewards  which 
the  Providence  of  tlie  Almighty  hath  assigned  you. 
Whatever  can  warm  the  generous,  or  animate  the 
noble  mind,  is  displayed  to  your  ambition  ; — the 
acquisition  of  personal  fame,  the  maintenance  of 
family  honour  ; — the  extension  of  national  great- 
ness, and  the  improvement  of  national  manners ; 
— and,  what  is  still  more,  the  power  of  embodying 
your  names  in  the  annals  of  your  country,  and 
descending  to  posterity  with  the  admiration  of  the 
wise,  and  the  blessings  of  the  virtuous.     These 
are  the  motives  by  which  the  Almighty  summons 
you  to  labour;    and  cold,  surely,  must  be  that 
heart  which  beats  not  at  a  prospect  so  animating 
to  all  the  moral  or  intellectual  exertious  of  man. 


128  Ox'Vf  THE  RELIGIOUS  AND 

S.  From  these  general  considerations,  let  trie 
request  you,  in  the  second  place,  to  look  to  the 
actual  scene  of  life,  and  to  the  characters  which 
it  presents  to  your  view.  The  history  of  your 
country  records  to  you  the  memory  of  many  illus- 
trious great, — of  many  who  have  added  virtue  to 
rank,  and  .genius  to  distinction  ;  and  the  arduous 
days  in  which  you  live,  have,  1  thank  God,  well 
supported  whatever  was  great  or  dignified  in  na- 
tional character.  8uch  are  the  models  which  it 
becomes  you  to  study,— the  distinguished  charac- 
ters which  rise  as  it  were  from  the  mass  of  man- 
kind, to  court  you  to  follow  them ; — and  if,  in 
regarding  them,  your  bosoms  swell  with  admira- 
tion ; — if  you  form  the  secret  wish,  in  your  day, 
to  resemble  them  ; — if  hope  whisper  its  anticipa- 
tions of  success, — suffer  not,  for  any  pleasures 
which  life  can  offer  you,  these  invaluable  emotions 
to  pass  from  your  minds.  Remember,  that  such 
also  is  the  part  which  you  may  perform  ; — that 
such  are  the  honours  you  may  win, — and  that, 
even  when  life  is  passed,  and  all  the  momentary 
distinctions  of  mortality  are  at  an  end,  the  same 
grateful  tear  which  you  now  pour  upon  the  grave 
of  illustrious  virtue,  may  in  return  fall  upon 
yours. 

Alas !  my  brethren,  there  is  another  prospect  5 
and  if  there  be  examples  in  your  condition  which 
are  fitted  to  animate,  there  are  others  which  are 
fitted  to  chill  and  to  alarm.     You  have  read  in  the 


MORAL  KINDS  OF  KNOWI>EDGE.  1'20 

Rwnals  of  every  country,  llic  history  of  vicious 
greatness  and  profligate  Avealth.  You  have  heard^ 
HI  former  days,  of  the  arrogance  of  privileged  or- 
ders,— of  the  injustice  of  hereditary  power, — of 
iliat  corruption  of  manners  into  which  they  may 
fall,  wlio  are  exalted  ahove  the  censure  and  the 
indignation  of  the  world.  You  have  seen,  even  ia 
this  country,  rank  degraded,  and  power  abused, — 
riches  dissipated  amid  every  ignoble  pleasure, — 
influence  devoted  only  to  the  dissemination  of  base 
«r  vicious  manners, — and  all  tlie  fairest  gifts  of 
Heaven,  converted,  as  by  the  spell  of  an  enchant- 
er, into  the  elements  of  more  than  mortal  death. 
On  such  examples,  it  becomes  you  well  to  pause. 
There  was  a  time,  when  the  lost  beings  you  now 
behold  were  innocent  and  pure, — ^when  life  open- 
ed to  them  with  all  the  prospects  of  usefulness 
and  honour, — and  when  the  promises  of  youth 
afforded  no  presage  of  the  baseness  of  their  matu- 
rity, or  the  ignominy  of  their  age  ;  and  it  is  for 
you  well  to  consider,  whether  theirs  be  the  career 
that  you  Avould  wish  to  run,  or  theirs  the  death 
you  would  wish  to  die. 

3.  There  is  yet  one  other  consideration,  my 
young  brethren,  w  hich  I  would  wish  to  represent 
to  you,  and  which  it  is  of  the  deepest  consequence 
you  should,  in  the  present  hours,  impress  upon 
your  minds.  The  time  we  live  in  is  itself  elo- 
quent. The  ages  are  past,  in  which  power  can 
constitute  right,  or  w  ealth  embellish  corruption, — 
17 


530  ON  THE  RELIGIOUS  AND 

in  which  authority  can  take  the  place  of  virtue^ 
or  the  honours  of  distinction  be  maintained  amid 
the  profligacies  of  individual  character.  Whatever 
is  tlie  importance  of  the  distinction  of  ranks  to 
the  general  welfare  of  society ; — whatever,  in  this 
great  and  envied  country,  is  its  importance  to  the 
pi'eservation  of  our  unrivalled  constitution  ; — . 
whatever,  in  private  life,  is  its  influence  upon  the 
purity  and  dignity  of  national  manners, — all  these 
now  depend  upon  the  conduct  of  those  who  pos- 
sess them.  The  progress  of  national  prosperity, 
— the  searching  inquiries  of  science, — above  all, 
the  diflusion  of  the  spirit  of  the  gospel,  have 
broken  the  spell  which  formerly  rendered  the 
great  invulnerable  ;  and  the  eye  of  the  patriot  is 
now  raised  with  silent  anxiety  to  the  contempla- 
tion of  the  conduct  of  the  higher  conditions  of  so- 
ciety, to  know  whether  he  is  to  prophesy  peace  or 
anarchy  to  his  country. 

To  this  mighty  scene  of  trial  and  of  duty  you 
are  now  approaching.  Let  me  then  entreat  you  to 
look  at  the  fall  of  another  country, — to  that  migh- 
ty ruin  which  now  covers  the  first  of  European 
monarchies,  and  which  has  buried  every  thing, 
that,  but  a  few  years  ago,  was  noble  or  eleva- 
ted, in  one  promiscuous  grave.  Alas !  while  you 
look  upon  this  sepulchre  of  human  greatness, 
is  there  not  a  voice  which  arises  from  the  tomb, 
and  which  seems  to  tell  you  also  to  beware  ; — 
which  tells  you,  that  if  the  great  have  their  rights, 


MORAL  KINDS  OF  KNOWLEDGE.  I'M 

they  have  also  their  duties  ; — that,  in  the  present 
circumstances  of  tiic  world,  the  inheritance  of 
wealth,  and  the  pride  of  ancestry,  can  only  be 
supported  by  personal  dignity, — and  that  the 
fabrick  of  society  itself  can  only  be  maintained 
by  the  progressive  improvement  of  every  rank  in 
knowledge  and  in  virtue.  It  is  the  melancholy 
truth  of  history,  that  the  corruption  of  every  peo- 
ple has  begun  with  the  great ;  and,  if  ever  that 
dread  day  shall  come,  when  this  constitution,  so 
long  the  subject  of  our  pride  to  men,  and  our 
gratitude  to  God,  shall  also  perish,  it  will  be 
when  the  higher  orders  are  more  corrupt  than  the 
lower ; — when,  in  the  security  of  vanity,  or  in  the 
baseness  of  vicious  pleasure,  they  shall  at  once 
have  undermined  the  respect  of  the  vulgar,  the 
confidence  of  the  wise,  and  the  hope  of  the  virtu- 
ous. 

Such  then,  my  young  brethren,  is  that  arduous 
but  animating  state  on  which  you  are  about  to  en- 
ter. It  is,  in  truth,  uo  state  of  luxury  and  ease, 
— no  privileged  scene  of  exemption  from  that  la- 
bour, which  is  at  once  the  lot  and  the  prerogative 
of  man.  You  are  called  by  the  providence  of 
God  to  the  first  rank  in  the  society  of  men  ; — you 
are  called  by  the  same  Providence  to  the  first 
duties  ;  and  the  voice  of  nature  coincides  with  the 
voice  of  the  Gospel,  in  the  solemn  assurance, 
^^  that  of  those  to  whom  much  h  given,  much  also 
'^  will   he  required."     J)o  you  then  wish,  with  the 


132  ON  THE  RELIGIOUS,  &c, 

natural  generosity  of  youth,  to  fulfil  in  after  years 
the  duties  to  which  you  are  called  ?  Now  is  the 
time  for  this  sacred  preparation.  It  is  now,  in  the 
spring  of  your  days,  that  you  may  aequke  the 
knowledge,  and  establish  the  habits  which  are  to 
characterize  your  lives  ;  and  that  you  may  elevate 
the  temper  of  your  minds  to  the  important  destiny 
to  which  the  Father  of  Nature  has  called  you. 
The  world,  with  all  its  honours  and  all  its  temp- 
tations, is  before  you ; — the  paths  of  virtue  and  of 
vice  are  equally  open  to  receive  you  ; — and  it  is 
the  decision  of  your  present  hours,  which  must  de- 
termine your  character  in  time,  and  your  fate  in 
eternity. 

I  pray  God,  tliat  you  may  decide  like  Christians 
and  like  men  ;— that  you  may  take,  in  early  life, 
^^  that  good  part  wliich  will  never  be  taken  from 
''■  you  ;'' — and  tl)at  neither  the  illusions  of  rank, 
nor  the  seductions  of  wealth,  may  lead  you  to 
forget  what  you  owe  to  yourselves,  to  your  country, 
and  to  your  God, 


SERMON  X. 


ON  SUMMER. 


Judges  v.  31. 

"  Let  them  that  iove  the  Lord  be  as  the  sun,  when  he  goeth  forth  in 
his  might." 

There  are  principles  of  our  constitution  which 
lead  us  from  the  observation  of  tlie  material  world, 
to  the  contemplation  of  the  mind  that  formed  it, 
and  which,  from  the  spectacle  of  beauty,  conduct 
us  to  Him  "  who  has  made  every  thing  beautiful 
'^  in  his  time."  There  are  uses  too  of  no  mean 
importance  to  happiness,  to  virtue,  and  to^ety, 
which  meditations  of  this  kind  are  fitted  to  serve; 
and  tliere  is  no  way  in  which  the  young  can  bet- 
ter learn  the  sentiments  of  devotion,  or  the  old 
preserve  them,  than  in  cultivating  those  habits  of 
thought  and  of  observation  which  convert  Nature 
into  the  Temple  of  God,  and  render  all  its  dift'er- 
ent  scenes  expressive  of  the  various  attiibiites  of 
the  Almighty  Mind. 


134  ON  SUMMER. 

Every  age,  in  this  view,  has  felt  the  analogy 
which  subsists  between  the  seasons  of  the  year, 
and  the  character  and  duties  of  men.  There  is,  in 
the  revolutions  of  time,  a  kind  of  warning  voice 
which  summons  us  to  thought  and  reflection ;  and 
every  season,  as  it  arises,  speaks  to  us  of  the  anal- 
ogous character  which  we  ought  to  maintain. 
From  the  first  openings  of  the  spring,  to  the  last 
desolation  of  winter,  tlie  days  of  the  year  are  em- 
blematick  of  the  state  and  of  tlie  duties  of  man ; 
and,  whatever  may  be  the  period  of  our  journey, 
we  can  scarcely  look  up  into  the  Heavens,  and 
mark  the  path  of  the  sun,  without  feeling  some- 
thing either  to  animate  us  upon  our  course,  or  to 
reprove  us  for  our  delay. 

It  is  now  the  pride  and  glory  of  the  year.  The 
^^  winter  is  over  and  gone," — the  spring  lias  again 
unlocked  all  tlie  annual  promises  of  nature, — the 
earth  around  us  is  every  where  covered  with  plen- 
teousness  and  beauty, — and  the  sun  is  pursuing 
like  d*^iant  his  '^  course  through  the  Heavens," 
and  dispensing  light  and  life  over  the  world  be- 
neath him.  Are  there  no  reflections,  my  brethren, 
which  such  a  spectacle  inspires  ?  Are  there  no 
classes  or  conditions  of  men,  of  whose  character 
and  €luties  this  season  is  descriptive  ?  And  are 
there  no  moral  lessons  which  they,  who  love  the 
Lord,  may  gather  from  that  "  sun  which  now  goeth 
^^  forth  in  his  might  ?" 


ON  SUMMER.  13j 

1.  Is  it  not,  in  the  first  place,  erablcmatick  to  us 
of  the  maturity  of  human  life,  and  of  the  virtues 
which  that  season  ought  to  display  ?  To  those  of 
that  age,  the  spring,  with  all  its  weakness,  and  all 
its  dangers,  is  past; — an  unseen  arm  hath  con- 
ducted them  through  the  dawn  of  their  infant 
journey,  and  led  them  on  to  that  mighty  stage, 
where  the  honours  of  time  and  of  eternity  are  to  be 
won.  Wliatever  may  be  the  station  or  condition 
in  which  they  are  placed,  there  is  yet  to  all  some 
simple  and  evident  duty  which  they  are  called  to 
perform, — some  course  which  they  are  summoned 
to  run  ;  and,  what  is  far  more,  however  narrow 
may  be  its  bounds,  or  obscure  its  situation,  there 
is  some  sphere  to  which  their  influence  extends, 
and  in  which,  like  the  summer  sun,  they  may  dif- 
fuse joy  and  happiness  around  them.  In  such 
seasons,  let  nature  be  their  instructer  ;  and,  while 
they  bless  the  useful  light  which  pours  gladness 
among  the  dwellings  of  men,  let  them  remember 
that  tlicy  also  were  made  to  bless  and  to  improve. 
Let  tliem  remember,  that  to  them  have  now  arisen 
tlie  Icngtliened  and  the  enlightened  days  of  life, 
when  every  thing  calls  them  to  labour ;  that  the 
breath  of  Heaven  has  ripened  all  their  powers  of 
mind  and  body  into  perfection  ;  that  there  are  eyes 
in  Heaven  and  Earth,  which  look  upon  the  course 
they  are  pursuing ;  and  that  the  honours  of  time, 
and  the  hopes  of  immortality,  alike  depend  upon 
the  UHC  which  they  make  of  the  summer  of  their 


136  ON  SUMMER. 

days.  Alas  !  too,  let  tlieni  remember,  that  the 
seasons  ^f  man  have  their  varieties,  like  the  seasons 
of  nature  ;  and,  while  they  look  aronnd  them  and 
see  the  noon  of  life  (as  sometimes  they  must  sec  it) 
darkened  by  vice,  or  obscured  by  folly,  let  it  warn 
them  of  the  dangers  to  which  they  also  are  exposed, 
and  prostrate  them  in  prayer  before  the  Throne  of 
God,  that  they  may  run  their  course  like  the  sun. 
in  his  brightness. 

3.  A  second  class  of  men^  of  whose  cliaracter 
and  duties  the  present  season  is  descriptive,  is  that 
of  those,  whom  the  favour  of  nature,  or  the  fortu- 
nate circumstances  of  education,  have  raised  to 
knowledge,  to  wisdom,  and  to  genius.  There  is 
no  resemblance  more  familiar  to  our  minds,  than 
that  which  subsists  between  knowledge  and  light ; 
and  there  is  none  which  more  significantly  points 
out  the  great  duties  wliich  are  demanded  of  those 
whom  Providence  has  so  highly  distinguished. 
They  are,  in  the  language  of  the  Gospel,  the 
*niglits  of  the  world,'*' — in  the  language  of  the 
text,  "  the  sun  wlien  he  goeth  forth  in  his  might," 
— the  legislators  of  moral  principle  and  speculative 
opinion  ;  and,  while  others  labour  at  tlie  oar,  amid 
the  tempestuous  sea  of  life,  it  is  theirs  to  sit  at  the 
helm,  and  guide  the  vessel  of  society  (.hrough  t!ie 
perils  of  the  ocean.  To  extend  tlic  boundaries  of 
human  knowledge,  and  enlarge  the  spliere  of  Jia-- 
man  power ;  to  give  relief  to  pain,  and  consolation 
to  wo ;  to  fix  the  foundations  of  present  prospe- 


ON  SUMMER.  137 

lity,  and  awaken  the  am])ition  of  immortal  hope ; 
to  unveil  the  splendonrs  of  the  Almighty  mind ; 
and  to  unite  the  world  in  the  sublime  sentiments 
of  the  love  of  Him,  and  the  love  of  every  thing 
that  he  hath  made ;  these  are  the  mighty  ends 
for  which  knowledge  and  genius  were  given,  and 
to  which  all  true  wisdom  ever  strenuously  aspires. 
Let  then  even  the  wise  be  instructed  by  the  pass- 
ing time.  Let  them  consider  the  sun,  which  now 
^^  gocth  forth  in  his  might,"  as  the  true  emblem 
of  their  duty.  Let  them  remember  that  they  also 
may  give  light  and  joy  to  the  moral  world  of  men  ; 
and  let  them  never  forget,  that  in  this  they  most 
resemble  him,  when  they  break  through  the  clouds 
of  ignorance  and  crrour  ; — when,  with  the  genial 
rays  of  truth,  they  disperse  the  mists  of  doubt  and 
of  fear  which  had  been  gathering  over  the  souls 
of  men  ; — and  when  they  bring  forward  to  their 
view  the  magnificence  of  nature,  and  the  benevo- 
lence of  the  Eternal  Mind  which  governs  it. 

3.  There  is  yet  another,  and  a  more  numerous 
class  of  men,  of  whose  usefulness  the  present  sea- 
son is  embleniatick  ;  that  of  the  great  and  the  afflu- 
ent: of  those  Avho  enjoy  the  exalted  conditions  of 
society,  and  possess  the  awakening  powers  of 
wealth  and  influence.  It  is  to  this  class  of  our 
congregation  that  the  present  season  calls  me  in 
particular  to  address  myself.  The  annual  season 
of  pleasure  and  of  business  is  now  drawing  to  its 
close,  and  many  of  those  who  hear  me  arc  prepar- 
es 


135  OX  SUMMER. 

ing  to  return  to  the  seats  of  tlieir  ancestors,  or  to 
those  possessions,  not  less  honourable,  which  their 
own  industry  ami  labour  have  acquired. 

Every  scene  of  life  has  its  appropriate  duties  ; 
and  1  trust  I  shall  therefore  be  forgiven^  if  I  at- 
tempt at  present  to  draw  your  attention  to  this 
subject  : — To  the  consideration  of  the  duties  and 
the  dispositions  which  become  those  who  possess 
this  important  share  in  the  property  of  their 
country. 

If  it  be  unfortunate  for  us,  that  we  often  un- 
dervalue the  blessings  we  enjoy,  it  is  equally 
unfortunate  that  we  sometimes  undervalue  the  use- 
V fulness  we  possess.  There  is  a  modesty  in  good- 
ness, which  sometimes  leads  men  to  estimate  their 
importance  in  society  too  low.  There  is  a  care- 
lessness, too^  which  the  possession  of  power  is 
apt  to  produce,  and  wliich  renders  them  uncon- 
scious of  the  exertions  which  are  demanded  of 
them.  It  is  wise  in  men,  therefore,  sometimes  to 
remove  themselves,  as  it  were,  from  their  own 
situation  in  life ; — to  look  upon  their  condition 
in  the  light  in  which  the  rest  of  the  world  con- 
sider it;  and  tluis  to  return  to  it  with  new  impres- 
sions of  the  duties  which  it  demands,  and  of  the 
opportunities  of  virtue  which  it  affords  them. 

If,  in  this  view,  my  brethren,  you  survey  the 
great  scene  of  human  society,  you  will  sec  that 
the  condition  in  it  the  most  l!onoural)le,  the  most 
important,  and  the  most  fruitful  of  usefulness,  is 


ON"  SUM.MEH.  lo9 

that  of  tiie  proprietor  of  land,  Ollioi'  men  must 
struirrle  with  the  world,  heToro  the  v  can  raise 
themselves  into  distinction  and  inlluencc.  lie, 
on  tiie  contrary,  is  born  a  ruler  of  ti»c  peoi)k',  and 
the  same  laws  which  convey  to  Itim  the  title  to 
his  lands,  convey  to  him  the  welfare  or  the 
wretehedness  of  the  men  who  inhal)it  tlsem.  His 
opinions,  in  many  Avays,  become  the  model  of 
tlieirs  ; — his  exajuple  is  able,  cither  to  strengthen 
or  to  shake  tlicir  most  important  principles  of 
morality  ; — and  his  power  can  make  itself  felt, 
even  within  tlic  walls  of  the  lowest  cottage, 
either  in  disseminating  joy,  or  dili'using  sorrow. 
From  the  agitations  of  tiie  great  world,  the  ob- 
scurity of  the  poor  renders  them  happily  free  ; 
and,  amid  tiie  calm  occupations  of  sequestered 
industry,  even  the  influence  of  legislation  is  but 
"distantly  felt.  But  the  influence  of  their  landlord 
is  felt  in  every  day  and  in  every  occupation  of 
their  lives  ;  and  he  alone,  of  all  the  various  mem- 
bers of  society,  has  the  power  of  realizing  the 
beautiful  description  of  the  Patriarch  of  old  : 
*'AVhen  I  went  out  of  the  gate,  the  young  men 
*'saw  me,  and  hid  themselves;  and  the  aged 
'■•arose,  and  stood  up.  When  the  ear  heard  me, 
•^then  it  blessed  me,  and  when  the  eye  saw  me, 
•^  it  gave  witness  unto  me.  1  delivered  the  poor 
^^and  the  fatherless,  and  bim  that  had  none  to 
•^iielp  liim.     The  blessing  of  him  that  was  ready 


'140  OX  SUMMER. 

"  to  perisli  came  upon  me,  and  I  caused  the 
*^  widow's  heart  to  sing  for  joy/' 

Such  is  the  light  in  which  it  is  ever  wise  in 
you,  whom  Providence  has  called  to  this  impor- 
tant condition  of  society,  to  consider  the  station 
you  fill  ;  and  such  views  it  is  my  present  purpose 
to  pursue,  by  suggesting  to  you  some  of  the  most 
remarkable  sources  of  usefulness  the  same  Provi- 
dence has  given  you  to  employ. 

1.  The  first  of  these  is  in  the  encouragement  of 
learning,  and  in  facilitating  the  means  of  instruc- 
tion. It  is  a  character  of  our  religion,  my  bre- 
thren, not  less  distinguished  than  that  of  its  being 
accompanied  by  miraculous  assistance,  that  "  the 
"Gospel  was  preached  unto  the  poor;''  and  it 
has  been  the  effect  of  it  to  raise  the  minds  of  tiie 
lower  ranks  of  mankind  to  a  degree  of  virtue  and 
elevation,  which  no  former  ages  of  the  world  had 
known.  In  this  mighty  design  of  Providence, 
you  are  at  present  the  agents.  In  all  the  differ- 
ent ages  of  Christianity  you  review, — in  every 
country  you  at  present  survey, — you  will  find,  that 
the  character  and  the  virtue  of  the  people  is  ever  in 
proportion  to  tlie  facility  of  their  instruction  ;  and 
that  it  is  this  single  cause  which  has  raised  them 
from  savages  into  men, — from  slaves  into  citizens, 
— and  from  all  the  grossness  of  sensual  existence, 
into  tlie  dignified  enjoyments  of  cultivated  being. 

If  there  be  something  pleasing  in  the  considera- 
tion of  this  power  of  usefulness  which  you  enjoy^ 


ON  SU3niER.  141 

there  is  something  also  very  solemn  in  tlic  imagi- 
nation of  its  neglect.  You  blame  the  parent  who 
refuses  the  means  of  instruction  to  his  child ; 
you  blame  the  legislator  who  provides  noi  the 
elements  of  education  for  his  people  ;  and  is  there 
no  blame  in  the  sight  of  God  and  man  which  falls 
upon  him,  who  withdraws  from  those  whom 
Providence  has  given  to  his  care  the  foundation 
of  all  their  improvement, — who  withholds  from 
the  darkened  vale  of  life  the  radiance  which  alone 
can  cheer  it, — and  who  refuses  to  the  children  of 
toil  and  suffering,  the  chief  compensation  whicli 
Heaven  has  made  them  for  all  their  wants  and  all 
their  labours.  Is  there  no  blame,  too,  that  would 
fall  upon  the  great  of  this  country,  in  particular, 
if  they  were  to  relax  in  that  attention  which  their 
ancestors  had  paid  to  the  education  of  the  people ; 
if  they  were  to  suffer  those  institutions  to  decay, 
which  have  nursed  the  talents  that  have  given 
to  our  land  a  splendour  which  nature  had  denied 
it, — and  for  whicli  the  people  have  proudly  paid, 
in  every  art  where  genius  could  be  shewn,  and. 
in  every  field  where  glory  could  be  won. 

There  is,  indeed,  a  doctrine  of  anotiier  kind, — 
a  doctrine  which  would  teach  us  that  the  tranquil- 
Vity  of  society  is  only  to  be  maintained  by  the  ig- 
norance of  the  people, — which,  for  the  sake  of  tliQ 
lew,  would  coMGign  all  the  rest  of  mankind  to 
barbarity  and  gloom — and  which  would  purchase 
the  grons  repose  Qf  rank  and  afliucnce   by  the 


^'^  ON  SUMMER. 

sacrifice  of  all  the  qualities  of  immortal  men.  To 
such  a  doctrine  I  need  not  reply.  It  is  replied  to 
l)y  the  indignation  of  every  heart  tliat  is  akin  to 
humanity.  It  is  replied  to,  in  deeper  tones,  by 
the  history  of  the  world,  and  by  those  terrifick 
scenes  which  our  sister  island  has  lately  present- 
ed to  our  view.  It  is  in  the  annals  of  her  late 
sanguinary  story,  that  you  will  see  what  are  the 
fruits  of  ignorance  and  barbarity — with  what  facii- 
i(y  the  demagogue  and  the  hypocrite  may  act  upon 
the  minds  of  an  untutored  people, — and  to  what 
lengths  of  savage  cruelty  they  can  go,  when  they 
burst  the  only  fetters  that  restrain  thera.  It  is 
there,  my  brethren,  you  will  learn,  that,  by  the 
eternal  decree  of  Heaven,  the  perfection  of  society 
is  united  with  the  perfection  of  the  individual  ^ 
that  to  improve  the  lower  ranks  of  men,  is  to  give 
stability  to  the  higher  ;  and  that  the  peace  of  a 
nation  can  never  be  so  securely  trusted,  as  in  the 
hands  of  those,  who  share  in  its  prosperity,  and 
who  are  capable  of  knowing  both  their  rights  and 
their  duties. 

2.  The  second  means  of  usefulness  which  yoit 
enjoy,  is  in  the  power  of  encouraging  industry 
and  improvement.  In  this  respect,  there  are  ad- 
vantages which  to  you  are  peculiar.  Amid  the 
population  of  great  cities,  the  man  of  benevolence 
feels  his  powers  altogether  inadequate  to  his  de- 
sires. The  objects  of  his  assistance  escape  from 
him,  amid  the  mass  of  society,  and  he  often  sighs 


ON  SU.ATMER.  l^''^ 

to  think,  that  he  has  been  cncouiM2;ln5  vice,  while 
he  only  meant  to  assist  viittie.  To  such  dillkul- 
ties  you  are  not  exposed; — the  fieltl  of  your  Ijc- 
iievolencc  lies  all  before  you  ; — t!ic  characters^  the 
Avants^  or  the  interests  of  your  people*,  are  :ill  famil- 
iar to  yon  : — and,  what  is  still  more,  the  dem;inds 
upon  your  virtue  can  never  exceed  your  power  of 
exerting;  it,  because  the  same  circumstances  which 
limit  or  extend  your  property,  limit  also  or  extend 
the  demands  which  justice  or  benevolence  can 
make  upon  you. 

How  numerous  are  the  opportunities  which  such 
a  situation  affords  to  a  noble  mind  for  the  exercise 
of  active  virtue  !  Seated  in  the  midst  of  an  obedi- 
ent and  humble  people,  how  many  are  the  bless- 
ings which  even  common  kindness  may  diffuse. 
If  it  be  the  young  who  are  wandering  into  errour 
or  folly,  it  is  y^Jiir  advice  which  best  can  restrain, 
and  most  ellVctually  warn  them.  If  it  be  talents 
and  genius  which  are  struggling  in  obscurity,  it 
is  your  hand  which  can  raise  them  up,  and  lead 
them  into  the  road  of  honour  and  independence. 
If  it  be  misfortune  which  bows  down  the  poor 
man's  head,  and  makes  him  lof)k  to  futurily  with 
tears,  it  is  your  pity  and  forI)earance  which  can 
give  him  more  than  wealth,  and  rekindle  anew 
the  spirit  of  industry,  and  the  ii(»pe  of  fjetter  days. 
If  it  be  the  grey  hairs  of  ilie  dec«yed  labourer 
-wiiich  bend  beftji-e  you,  it  is  you  avIio  can  give 
ihera  shelter,  and,  in  some  little  corner  of  your 
land;  let  them  fall  to  th.c  grave  in  peace. 


144  ON  SUMMER. 

How  well,  too,  is  this  situation  suited  to  the 
exercise  of  female  humanity  !  and,  in  the  scenes 
far  from  the  turbulent  pleasures  of  fiishionable  life, 
how  well  may  female  virtue  exert  its  noblest  pow- 
ers !  To  be  the  patterns  and  the  protectors  of  tlieir 
sex,- — to  cherisli  the  purity  of  domestick  virtue, — 
to  guide  the  mother's  hand  in  the  rearing  of  her 
children,  and  teach  to  them  the  important  lessons 
of  religious  education  and  domestick  economy, — to 
awaken,  by  kind  praise,  the  ambition  of  the  young, 
and  to  sooth,  with  lenient  hand,  the  sorrows  of  the 
old, — these  are  tlie  opportunities  which  such  situ- 
ations afford  to  female  benevolence ;  the  means 
by  whicii  they  may  exalt  the  character,  and  ex- 
tend the  virtue^  of  their  sex ;  and  shed  upon  the 
lowly  cottage  of  tlic  peasant,  blessings  whicli  can 
compensate  for  all  its  wants,  and  all  its  poverty. 

Nor  think,  my  brethren,  that,  in  this  detail  of 
beneficence,  there  is  little  use,  or  that  these  simple 
virtues  perish  with  the  day  that  gives  them  birth. 
It  is  they,  in  fact,  which  have  given  its  character 
to  our  land, — and  which,  knitting  by  insensible 
means  the  affections  of  the  people  to  their  masters, 
liave  maintained,  in  many  an  hour  of  danger,  the 
rights  and  the  liberties  of  all,  and  spread  the 
riches  of  cultivation  which  distinguish  our  country. 
And  even  now  the  traveller,  as  he  passes,  can 
mark,  both  on  tlie  face  of  nature  and  on  the  face 
t)f  man,  wliether  it  is  by  wisdom  or  folly, — by  be* 
nevolc'.icc  or  by  cruelty,  that  the  district  he  sur- 


ON  SUMMER.  145 

veys  is  governed  ; — and,  while  he  sighs  at  the 
sterility  which  folly  causes,  and  the  misery  which 
oppression  has  produced,  he  leaves  his  blessing  on 
those  fields  which  tiie  wisdom  of  the  landlord  has 
made  fertile,  and  on  those  men  whom  his  benefi- 
cence has  made  happy. 

3.  The  third  means  of  usefulness  you  enjoy,  is 
in  the  power  of  promoting  religion  and  piety.  I 
am  speaking  to  Christians,  to  those  who  know  the 
value  of  religion,  and  who  have  felt  how  little 
every  other  possession  is  able  to  give  peace  to  the 
heart  of  man.  Let  me  then  remind  you,  that  it  is 
still  more  necessary  to  the  lower  ranks  of  society, 
— that  it  is  religion  which  forms  their  only  sci- 
ence,— that  it  is  from  it  their  deepest  sense  of  duty 
springs, — and  that,  in  the  hopes  which  it  brings, 
they  find  the  sole  but  mighty  compensation  for  all 
the  toils  they  undergo,  and  all  the  inequalities 
they  experience.  Of  this  master- spring  of  human 
happiness  and  human  virtue,  you  have  in  a  great 
measure  the  command,  and  it  is  your  example 
which  must  determine  whether  you  are  to  preside 
over  a  pious  or  an  abandoned  people. 

It  is  said,  indeed,  that  in  this  respect  there  is  a 
relaxation  in  the  manners  of  the  age,  and  that  the 
opulent  and  great  have  become  remiss  in  their  dis- 
charge of  the  publick  duties  of  religion.  I  hope 
at  least  that  it  is  not  so.  I  trust  that  there  is  nei- 
ther so  little  wisdom,  nor  so  little  piety  in  those 
who  ought  to  be  the  models  of  both  ;  for  no  con- 
id 


146  ON  SUMMER. 

duet  that  could  be  followed,  could  be  more  unwise, 
or  more  cruel. 

It  were  unwise,  surely,  to  unsettle  all  the  foun- 
dations of  duty  in  the  minds  of  the  people, — to 
remove  those  mighty  obligations  which  alone  can 
permanently  reconcile  them  to  a  condition  of  infe- 
riority and  toil, — and  to  lead  them  to  imagine  that 
the  inequalities  they  witness  were  not  the  design 
of  that  Providence  which  they  revere,  but  the  ef- 
fects only  of  human  power  and  human  injustice. 

It  were  cruel  far  more,  to  insinuate  among  them^ 
eHher  by  language  or  conduct,  a  single  doubt  with 
respect  to  the  foundations  of  their  religion, — to 
wrest  from  them,  even  by  carelessness  or  levity, 
any  of  those  consolations  on  w  hich  the  head  of 
poverty  and  age  may  rest, — or  to  dim,  to  their  be- 
lieving eye,  those  hopes  and  expectations  which 
irradiate  that  humble  grave  where  "  the  weary '^ 
long  "  to  be  at  rest." 

Alas  !  my  brethren,  it  were  cruel  also  to  your- 
selves. Life,  with  all  its  power,  and  all  its  riches, 
must  have  an  end  ;  and  there  is  an  hour  coming, 
when  all  will  be  forgot  but  the  use  that  has  been 
made  of  them.  In  that  hour,  you  would  dread  to 
think,  that  your  example  had  been  the  cause  even 
of  present  sorrow  to  your  people, — that  your  se- 
verity had  embittered  the  happiness  of  those  whom 
you  might  have  blessed,  or  your  vices  contamina- 
ted the  purity  of  their  ancient  manners.  Alas  !  i» 
it  not  still  more  awful  to  think,  that  your  exampl© 


^ 


ON  SUMMER.  14r 

may  penetrate  into  eternity  ; — that  your  levity 
may  have  raised  doubts  which  ended  in  unbelief; 
that  your  carelessness  may  have  taught  the  simple 
to  throw  off  tlie  yoke  of  religion  ; — and  that,  in  the 
final  ruin  of  those  souls  which  the  providence  of 
God  had  consigned  to  your  care,  you  yourselves 
may  have  been  the  fatal  instruments. 

Such  then  are  the  virtues  which  may  be  exerted, 
and  the  means  of  usefulness  which  may  be  em- 
ployed by  those  whom  Providence  has   placed  in 
this  favoured  condition  of  society.     Go,  then,  my 
brethren, — return  from  the  fatigues   of  business, 
and  the  tumult  of  unreal  pleasure,  to  the  calm  joy 
and  the  dignified  occupations  of  rural  life  !  Return, 
but   like  tlie  sun   "wlien  he  goeth  forth  in  his 
"  might,''   to  give  beauty  to  the  scenes  of  nature, 
and  happiness  to   the   dwellings   of  men.     It  is 
your  noblest  character  to  be  considered  as   the 
fathers  of  your  people.     Go  then,  and  to  the  young 
impart  the  means  of  instruction, — and  spread  the 
light  of  knowledge  amid  the   obscurities  of  life, 
and  maintain  the  proud  distinction  which  learning 
has   given  to  your  country.     Go,  and  awaken  in 
manhood  the  spirit  of  industry,   and  give  to  the 
hand  of  labour  the  hope  of  independence,  and  ex- 
ert that  noblest  charity  which  is  not  satisfied  with 
relieving  poverty,  but  which  prevents  it.     Go,  still 
more,  and  be  the   '^  leaders  of  your  people  in  the 
^<  way  of  rigliteousness  ;"  and  while  you  employ 
the  benevolence  of  men  in  guiding  them  in  peace 


148  ON  SUMMER- 

througli  tilings  temporal,  employ  the  greater  be- 
nevolence  of  Christians,  in  guiding  them  in  hope 
to  things  eternal. 

Nor  ask  for  a  reward  of  your  labours.  To  be 
thus  employed  is  itself  happiness.  It  is  to  be  fel- 
low-workers with  the  Father  of  Nature,  in  the 
prosperity  of  his  people.  It  is  to  give  men  to 
society, — citizens  to  your  country, — and  children 
to  your  God. 


nr-'^' 


SERMON   XL 


ON  THE  THANKSGIVING  FOR  THE  VICTORY  AT  TRA- 
FALGAR. 


St.  Matthew  xvii.  4. 

"  Then  answered  Peter,  and  said  unto  Jesus,  Lord !  it  is  good  for 
us  to  be  here." 

When  our  Saviour  carried  liis  disciples  up  into 
the  mount,  and  was  transfisjured  before  tliem,  we 
read,  in  this  chapter,  that  St.  Peter,  overpowered 
with  the  vision  of  :j;lory  which  he  was  permitted 
to  see,  exclaimed,  in  holy  rapture,  **  Lord,  it  is 
*^  j;ood  for  us  to  be  here !"  It  is  good  for  us  to  be 
raised  above  the  lower  world,  and  to  vvitness  this 
manifestation  of  the  majesty  of  Him  by  whom  thou 
art  sent ;  that  we  may  return  again  into  the  world 
with  deeper  conviction  of  thy  divinity,  and  that 
thou  art  the  beloved  Son,  whose  voice  it  is  our 
duty  to  hear ! 

With  such  feelings  of  devout  gratitude,  I  trust, 
we  are  now  assembled  in  the  House  of  God,  and 
have  joined  in  those  accents  of  praise  which  on 
this  day  rise  from  every  corner  of  our  laad,     W« 


1.50  ON  THE  THANKSGIVING  FOR 

are  assembled  to  commemorate  one  of  those  signal 
deliverances  wliich  reach  to  the  foundation  and 
stability  of  our  empire. — We  have  seen  the  pro- 
tracted anxiety  of  years,  dispersed,  as  it  were, 
by  the  breath  of  Heaven;  and,  accustomed  as  we 
are  to  the  possession  of  national  glory,  we  have 
seen  it  awaken,  as  if  with  accumulated  lustre,  and 
shed  over  the  year  which  is  about  to  close,  a 
splendour  unknown  to  any  former  age. 

In  such  moments  there  is  a  command,  superiour 
even  to  that  of  the  sovereign  or  the  legislature, 
which  summons  us  into  the  temple  of  God,  and 
leads  us  to  join  that  multitude  who,  in  receiving 
common  blessings,  are  ardent  to  express  their  com- 
mon praise.  It  is  an  instinct  descriptive  of  our 
nature,  and  productive  of  sentiments  that  become 
us ;  it  unites  the  concerns  of  earth  with  the  laws 
of  Heaven  ;  it  raises  us  from  ordinary  thought,  to 
the  conceptions  of  him  in  whose  hand  all  "  the 
^^  nations  of  the  earth  are  as  the  dust  in  the  bal- 
"  anee  ;" — and,  amid  the  miseries  of  nations,  it 
leads  us  to  the  anticipation  of  that  final  state,  when 
there  shall  be  '^  war  and  tears  no  more." 

If,  indeed,  it  were  only  to  swell  the  note  of 
publick  exultation,  that  assemblies  of  this  kind 
were  summoned, — if  it  were  to  cherish  national 
vanity  by  the  sanguinary  record  of  achievement,  or 
to  inflame  national  malignity  by  an  inhuman  tri- 
umph over  the  chains  of  the  captive,  or  the  ashes 
of  the  falleu; — I  know  not  that  human  impiety 


THE  VICTORY  AT  TRAFALGAR.  151 

«onl(l  afford  so  dark  a  scene  of  profanation.  In 
such  assemblies  no  Christian  spirit  would  breathe, 
and  on  such  hearts  no  grace  of  Heaven  could  de- 
scend. It  is  for  nobler  ends,  that,  on  days  like 
these,  the  wise  and  the  good  follow  the  multitude 
into  the  House  of  God.  It  is  to  sanctify,  with  all 
the  solemnity  of  religious  impression,  their  love  of 
their  country.  It  is  to  recal  to  mind  the  blessings 
which  the  Providence  of  Heaven  hath  shed  over 
their  land.  It  is  to  weigh  the  obligations  which 
these  blessings  create,  and  thus  to  prepare  their 
minds  for  the  discharge  of  those  duties  which  their 
country  may  in  future  demand  of  them,  whether  in 
peace  or  in  war. 

There  is  a  love  of  our  country  which  is  inherent 
in  human  nature,  which  is  felt  by  the  savage  as 
well  as  the  citizen,  and  which  no  artifice  of  sophis- 
try can  eradicate  from  the  bosom  of  man.  But,  in 
the  thoughts  of  a  wise  man,  there  are  other  circum- 
stances to  be  weighed  ;  he  will  be  disposed  to  jus- 
tify to  himself  these  original  anticipations  of  nature, 
and  to  consider  well  whether  the  character  or  the 
conduct  of  his  nation  sanctions  that  instinctive  love 
which  nature  has  taught  him.  In  such  an  inquiry 
there  will  probably  be  three  principal  subjects  of 
his  examination, — Whether  the  land  to  whieh  he 
belongs  be  distinguished  by  the  purity  of  its  reli- 
gious faith  ?  Whether  it  has  accomplished  the 
great  ends  of  social  union  ?  And  whether  it  has 
been  instnimental  to  the  happiness  and  welfare  of 


152  ON  THE  THANKSGIVING  FOR 

mankind  ?  These  three  inquiries  fulfil  the  widest 
investigation  into  the  conduct  and  character  of  na- 
tions ;  and  it  is  with  a  sense  of  thankfulness,  which 
language  would  in  vain  attempt  to  express,  that  I 
am  able,  even  from  this  place,  to  say,  *'  That  it  is 
"good  for  us  to  be  here." 

1.  Our  first  subject  of  thankfulness  to  Heaven 
is,  that  we  are  the  inhabitants  of  a  land,  over  which 
the  genuine  light  of  the  gospel  has  been  long  dif- 
fused. Of  the  importance  of  religion  to  the  immor- 
tal  concerns  of  man,  it  is  the  permanent  duty  of 
this  place  to  speak.  In  the  present  moment,  it  is 
of  another  consideration  1  wish  to  remind  you, — 
of  the  importance  of  the  purity  of  religious  faith  to 
the  temporal  happiness  of  man,  and  of  the  rank  in 
which  it  stands  in  the  enumeration  of  national 
blessings.  On  this  great  subject,  I  have  no  occa- 
sion to  descend  to  reasoning.  We  stand  upon  an 
eminence  from  which  we  can  descry  the  past  and 
the  present,  and  from  which  every  aspect  of  man- 
kind  tells  us,  "  that  it  is  good  for  us  to  be  here.'^ 
If  we  look  to  the  past,  we  may  discover,  in  their  va- 
rious forms,  those  images  of  terrour  which  peopled 
the  darkness  in  which  men  dwelt,  until  they  were 
"  visited  by  the  Day-spring  from  on  high."  If  we 
look  to  the  present,  we  may  see  the  nations  around 
us  still  involved  in  gloom,  and  struggling  with  the 
chains  which  ignorance  or  artifice  have  imposed 
upon  the  minds  of  men  ; — we  may  see  the  influence 
of  a  benevolent  religion,  wrested  to  the  purposes  of 


THE  VICTORY  AT  TRAFALGAR,  15» 

teraporal  or  spiritual  ambition  ; — we  may  sec  the 
book  of  life  sealed  from  those  to  whom  it  was 
given, — the  best  charities  of  human  life  poisoned 
in  the  source  from  which  they  spring, — and  tiie 
noblest  powers  of  understanding  degraded  by  the 
teri'ours  of  a  dark  and  artful  superstition.  It  is 
here,  if  any  where  in  the  history  of  man,  that  reli- 
gion has  best  displayed  its  powers  to  bless  huma- 
nity ; — it  is  in  this  land,  where,  uniting  its  mighty 
anticipations  with  the  dictates  of  natural  conscience, 
it  has  carried  its  influence  into  the  common  busi- 
ness and  bosoms  of  men,  and  lent  to  morality  the 
aid  of  its  prevailing  sanction.  But,  most  of  all,  it 
is  here  ^^  that  the  gospel  has  been  preached  unto 
^^  the  poor ;''  that,  to  the  majestick  multitude  of  the 
people,  it  has  diifused  its  equal  laws,  and  equal 
blessings  ;  and  that  the  infant  tongue  is  taught 
those  magnificent  doctrines,  which  give,  at  once, 
dignity  to  life,  and  hope  to  immortality. 

3.  The  second  subject  of  our  thankfulness  to 
Heaven,  is,  that  we  are  the  subjects  of  a  govern- 
ment which  has,  in  no  common  degree,  accom- 
plished the  ends  of  social  union.  Upon  this  sub- 
ject, it  were  in  vain  for  me  to  address  you. — There 
is,  in  every  bosom,  not  only  a  consciousness  but  a 
pride  in  its  truth  ;  and  in  this  view,  also,  when  we 
look  in  other  lands  upon  the  convulsions  of  anar- 
chy, or  the  deep  lethargy  of  despotick  power,  we 
feel,  that  "  it  is  good  for  us  to  be  here."  We  are 
the  citizens  of  a  country,  which  has  accomplisiied 


154  ON  THE  THANKSGIVING  FOR 

beyond  what  the  annals  of  man  have  hitherto  ex- 
hibited, the  union  of  publick  power  and  private 
liberty  ; — which  has  blended  the  might  of  politi- 
cal combination  with  the  energy  of  individual  ex- 
ertion,— and  which  has  awakened  all  the  powers 
that  contribute  to  national  prosperity,  by  the  free- 
dom which  it  gives  to  their  exercise. 

We  are  the  members  of  a  constitution  which  is 
founded  upon  the  rights  of  the  subject;  which 
has   marked  with  a  firm  hand  the   boundaries  of 
legitimate   power,   and  of  just  allegiance  ;    and 
which  contains  in  itself  that  principle  of  ameliora- 
tion, by  which  it  can  accommodate  itself  to  the 
widest  exigencies  of  national  progress.     Nor  is 
this  all,  nor  are  these  blessings  the  distributions 
only  of  climate  or  of  chance.  We  are  the  descend- 
ants of  men,  who  have  purchased  them  to  us  with 
their  blood  ; — we  are  the  heirs  of  those,  who,  in 
many  a  long  age  of  glory,  have  combated  oppres- 
sion in  the  senate,  and  withstood  it  in  the  field  ; — 
and  whose  wisdom   and  valour  have  left  to  the 
northern  soil  which  gave  them  birth,  distinctions 
of  a  nobler  kind,  tlian  ever  were  bequeathed  by 
eastern  opulence,  or  by  classick  fame, 

3.  It  is  our  last  subject  of  thankfulness  to 
Heaven,  that  we  are  the  inhabitants  of  a  country, 
which  perhaps,  beyond  all  others,  has  been  in- 
strumental to  the  progressive  welfare  of  the  human 
race.  In  the  sublime  designs  of  Providence  for 
t!ie  progress  of  mankind,  the  various  nations  of 


THE  VICTORY  AT  TRAFALGAR.  l.^J 

the  earth  have  been  ministering  in  their  day  to 
this  raagnitic.ent  end  ;  and  while  they  seemed  only 
to  he  consulting  their  own   interests,  have,   un- 
known to  themselves,  been  collectini:,  for  posterity 
the  maxims  of  publick  good,  and  the  laws  of  gen- 
eral prosperity.  It  is  upon  this  subject,  also,  with 
no  common  sentiments  of  exultation,  that  the  in- 
habitants of  this  land  can  look  back  to  the  ages 
that  are  passed,  and  consider  vvhat  their  forefathers 
have  done  in  every  line  of  action  or  of  intellectual 
glory.     Whatever  art  can  accomplish  in  the  im- 
provement of  nature,  or  science  discover  in  the 
investigation  of  its  laws  ; — Avhatever  of  national 
prosperity  freedom  can  attain   amid  the  tranquil- 
lities of  peace,  or  of  national   glory  bravery  can 
earn  amid  the  hardships  of  war — these  are  the 
monuments  of  this  country's  fame,  and  the  marks 
which  she  leaves  of  her  existence  to  tlie  future 
ages  of  men.    Even  in  the  hour  in  w  hich  I  speak, 
while  clouds  and  darkness  are  upon  the  future, 
she  yet  assumes  the  authority  of  greatness,  and 
stands  in  the  majestick  attitude  of  the  protectress 
of  nations.     While  some  have  bowed   even   their 
imperial  heads  beneath  the  feet  of  usurpation,  and 
others  shrunk  into  the  baseness  and  cowardice  of 
neutrality, — she  alone  has  stood   forward  in  the 
defence  of  the  independence  of  mankind,   firm  in 
her  strength,  and  confident  in   her  justice  :  And, 
if  the  liberty  of  the  world  be  yet  to  be  regained, 
it  is  her   hand  which   is   to  describe  the  circle 


166  ON  THE  THANKSGIVING  FOR 

within  which  lawless  power  is  to  he  confined,  and 
her  voice  which  is  to  say  to  the  unhallowed  torrent 
of  victory,  "  hitherto  shalt  thou  come,  and  no  far- 
"  ther,  and  here  shall  thy  proud  waves  be  staid." 

Such,  my  brethren,  are  the  national  blessings 
which  it  is  the  business  of  days  like  these  to  com- 
memorate, and  such  the  remembrances  with 
which  the  wise  and  the  good  will  join  the  multi- 
tude of  their  people,  and  prostrate  themselves  be- 
fore the  Throne  of  God.  Yet,  while  their  hearts 
burn,  and  while  their  thoughts  are  sanctified  by 
the  solemnities  of  worship,  there  is  a  question 
which  will  involuntarily  arise.  What  are  the  obliga- 
tions which  these  blessings  create  ?  And  what  are 
the  duties  which  we  are  called  upon  to  perform  ? 

To  these  questions  there  is  no  difficult  answer. 
To  an  ancient  people,  the  past  is  the  instructer 
of  the  future. — To  a  people  who  inherit  glory,  the 
line  of  their  duty  is  prescribed.  When  we  look 
forward  into  the  darkness  of  coming  time,  the 
shades  of  our  ancestors  arise,  and  point  out  to  us 
the  path  in  which  we  should  tread ;  and  a  voice 
seems  to  issue  from  their  tombs,  which  tells  us,  that 
our  duties  consist  in  wisdom  to  maintain  the  bles- 
sings they  have  left  us,  and  in  bravery  to  defend 
them. 

1.  To  the  first  of  these  I  feel  that  it  is  not  now  my 
duty  to  call  you.  There  was  indeed  a  time  (and 
the  hearts  of  many  still  throb  at  the  remembrance,) 
when  exhortations  of  this  kind  seemed  not  to  be 


THE  VICTORY  AT  TRAFALGAR.  157 

unnecessary.  There  was  a  time,  vvlicn,  in  the 
passion  for  innovation,  the  experience  of  ages 
seemed  to  have  been  forgot,  and  when,  amid  the 
warm  visions  of  political  enthusiasm,  all  the  sober 
ties  which  bind  society  together  seemed  likely  to 
be  dissolved.  That  time  has  passed.  The  meteor 
which  arose  to  illuminate  the  world,  has  been  ex- 
tinguished in  blood.  The  dark  tragedy  of  anoth- 
er country  has  been  performed  ;  and,  while  it  has 
left  a  lesson  to  appal  the  ^*  rulers  of  mankind,''  it 
has  been  also  prodigal  of  instruction  to  restrain 
the  "  madness  of  the  people."  The  scenes  of  its 
tremendous  progress  the  steady  eye  of  this  coun- 
try has  followed  with  observation ;  and  now,  con- 
centrating its  wisdom  and  its  strength,  it  has  tak- 
en, I  doubt  not,  its  last  resolve,  to  suffer  no  un- 
hallowed hand  to  touch  that  ark  of  our  constitution, 
which  contains  at  once  the  gospel  of  our  faith,  and 
the  charter  of  our  freedom. 

2.  It  is  still  less  necessary,  my  brethren,  that  I 
should  seek  to  animate  you  to  the  second  of  those 
duties  you  owe  your  country,  which  consists  in  the 
bravery  to  defend  it.  Yet  there  is  a  cloud  which 
sometimes  arises  to  the  eye  of  a  thoughtful  man, 
to  darken  this  interesting  prospect.  There  is 
something  in  the  opulence  of  nations,  which  has 
hitherto  been  found  hostile  to  national  virtue  ;  and, 
amid  the  long  sunshine  of  prosperity,  there  is  a 
malignant  spirit  of  selfish  interest  apt  to  arise, 
which  withers  the  proudest  promises  of  national 


158  ON  THE  THANKSGIVING  f  OR 

greatness.  It  is  now  to  be  seen,  whether  this  ma- 
lignant spirit  has  also  corrupted  us. — It  is  to  be 
seen,  whether,  like  the  nations  that  have  preceded 
us,  our  heart  also  is  cold,  and  our  arm  feeble  ; 
and  whether  we  also  can  be  contented  to  resign 
the  long  glories  which  our  fathers  have  left  us, 
and  to  sink  into  the  mass  of  tributary  nations. — 
No,  my  brethren,  I  cannot  fear  it.  1  cannot  fear 
it,  from  the  magnanimity  with  which  the  great  and 
the  opulent  of  our  country  have  resigned  all  the 
enjoyments  of  their  rank,  to  marshal  themselves- 
foremost  in  the  field  of  contest.  I  cannot  fear  it, 
from  the  ardour  with  which,  every  where,  tlie 
young  of  our  people  have  rushed  to  arms,  and 
swelled  the  ranks  of  national  independence.  But 
least  of  all  can  I  fear  it,  from  the  calm  intrepidity 
with  which  the  poor  man  has  ranged  himself  be- 
neath the  banners  of  his  country, — with  which  he 
has  identified  his  fate  with  it, — and  sworn  to  the 
God  of  his  Fathers,  never  to  surrender  to  the 
chains  of  a  tyrant  the  free-born  hands  of  his  chil- 
dren.— Gome  the  conflict  when  it  may,  I  trust 
(in  words  never  to  be  forgotten,)  that  every  man 
WILL  DO  HIS  duty;  and,  if  once  more  the  fleets  of 
an  invading  enemy  are  to  cover  the  ocean,  I  trust 
that,  once  more  also,  they  will  be  scattered  upon 
the  deep,  and  perish  in  the  waves  they  have  in- 
sulted. 

3.  There  is  yet  another  duty,  my  brethren,  to 
which,  upon  this  day,  we  are  called.     While  the 


THE  VICTORY  AT  TRAFALGAR.  159 

voice  of  thanksgiving  resounds  through  our  laud, 
there  is  a  note  of  sorrow  wiiich  mingles  with  it, — 
and  wliile  the  people  speak  only  of  glory,  there  are 
mourners,  who  speak  of  the  graves  of  those  by 
whom  it  has  been  won. 

Of  that  iLLUSTRious^iA]^  whose  memory  is  now 
present  to  every  heart,  and  whose  loss  has  dimmed 
the  eye  of  publick  exultation,  I  have  not  the  confi- 
dence either  to  attempt  the  praise  or  to  deplore  the 
fall.  I  remember  that  there  is  a  silence  more  im- 
pressive than  words  ;  and  still  more,  that  there  is 
a  veil  drawn  by  the  hand  of  Heaven,  between 
"  the  spirit  that  enters  into  the  joy  of  his  Lord," 
and  those  feeble  accents  of  mortal  praise  that  fol- 
low its  ascension.  Called  into  being  to  decide 
the  fate  of  nations,  and  to  bear  the  vengeance  of 
Heaven  upon  the  oppressors  of  mankind,  he  has 
fulfilled  his  mighty  destiny  ;  and  he  has  left  a 
name  before  which  the  generations  of  men  will 
I^ow,  when  the  monuments  which  a  grateful  coun. 
try  now  meditates  to  his  fame,  shall  have  moul- 
dered in  their  ruins. 

There  are  other  memories,  my  brethren,  that 
demand  your  gratitude  ; — there  are  parents  whom 
your  defence  has  bereaved  of  their  children  ; — 
there  are  widows,  whose  tears  bedew  the  wreath 
of  glory  which  the  arms  of  their  husbands  have 
earned ; — there  are  orphans,  whose  innocent  eyes 
are  lifted  to  their  country,  and  who  seek  in  vain 
their  fathers  who  have  bled  for  it. 


160  ON  THE  THANKSGIVING,  &c. 

I  cannot  insult  the  memory  of  the  heroick  dead, 
by  asking  your  charity  for  those  who  were  dear  to 
them.  I  will  say,  that  it  is  the  debt  of  justice  and 
of  generosity : — I  will  say,  that  there  is  no  noble 
heart  that  will  not  be  proujj*  to  contribute  to  the 
welfare  of  those  who  wiavjf  lo^'t  every  thing  but 
honour  : — I  will  say,  that  the  noblest  monument 
you  can  raise  to  their  ashes,  is,  to  shew  tliat  your 
generosity  can  equal  their  valour. 

We  are  now  about  to  part,  and  to  return  into 
the  world  to  our  several  occupations.     Yet,  ere 
we  separate,  while   one   affection  unites  us,  and 
while  our  hearts  beat  one   sentiment  of  praise,  let 
us  pray  for  our  country  : — Let  us  pray,  that,  over 
the  countless  multitudes  which  are  this  day  assem- 
bled before  the  Throne  of  God,»  the  same  spirit 
may  descend  which  once  animated   his    chosen 
people  ; — that  the  valour  of  the  memorable  day 
which  we  now  commemorate,  may  be  perpetuated 
to  our  last  generation  ; — and  that,  whateveii^ma;^' 
be  the  coming  dangers  which  may  assail  our  coun- 
try, there  never  may  be  wanting  the  heart  to  loYe^ 
and  the  arm  to  defend  it. 


SERMON  XII. 
ON  EVIL  COMMUNICATION. 

1  Corinthians  xt.  33. 
"  Be  not  deceived  :  evil  communications  corrupt  good  manners." 

There  is  no  prospect  more  painful  to  a  thought- 
ful mind,  than  that  of  the  first  commencement  of 
vice  or  folly  in  the  human  character.  It  is  pleas- 
ing to  us  to  look  upon  the  openings  of  human 
nature ;  amid  the  years  of  infancy,  to  see  the  grad- 
ual expansion  of  the  youthful  mind  in  benevolence 
and  knowledge  ;  and  to  anticipate  that  future  state 
of  maturity,  when  all  these  promises  shall  be  ac- 
complished, and  the  character  terminate  in  virtue 
and  in  usefulness.  How  painful,  on  the  contrary, 
is  it,  (even  to  the  unconnected  spectators,)  to  see 
all  these  hopes  disappointed, — to  see  the  spring  of 
life  untimely  blasted  by  some  malignant  power 
which  withers  all  the  blossoms  of  virtue,  and 
closes  all  the  expectations  we  had  formed  of  their 
opening  being !  Even  of  the  feeblest  characters  we 
still  lament  to  see  the  degradation.    If  we  had 


162  ON  EVIL  COMMUNICATION. 

formed  no  hopes  of  their  fame,  we  at  least  enter- 
tained hopes  of  their  goodness  ; — if  they  had  not 
been  distinguished,  we  think,  they  might  yet  have 
been  innocent.  In  the  obscurity  of  private  virtue, 
they  miglit  have  ^^  led  the  life  of  the  righteous,'^ 
full  of  peace  and  hope,  and  ^'  their  latter  end'' 
might  at  last  "  have  been  like  his." 

On  this  subject,  I  shall  at  present  submit  to  you 
some  reflections.  It  is  a  subject  at  all  times  im- 
portant to  the  young,  and  even  to  us,  my  brethren, 
of  more  advanced  years,  there  are  considerations 
that  render  it  interesting,  and  shew  us  how  impor- 
tant is  the  share  which  we  have  in  forming  the 
character  and  the  happiness  of  those  that  are  to 
succeed  us.  There  is  something  also  in  the  time, 
not  unsuited  to  your  reflections.  We  have  all 
been  engaged  in  the  most  important  solemnity  of 
our  religion ;  and  many  of  the  young  among  us 
have  visited  the  table  of  their  Lord,  and  taken  up- 
on themselves  the  vows  of  the  gospel,  and  entered 
inta  that  communion,  which  I  trust  is  to  be  to 
them  all  the  gate  of  Heaven.  At  such  a  time,  it 
is  wise  in  us  all  to  "  call  our  ways  to  remem- 
*^  brance," — in  the  young  to  remember  the  journey 
upon  which  they  are  going, — in  the  elder  to  re- 
member the  example  they  are  aifording. 

1.  In  almost  every  case  the  young  begin  well. 
They  come  out  of  the  hand  of  nature  pure  and 
uncorrupted  ;  disposed  to  kindness,  to  generosity, 
and  to  gratitude ;   ardent  in  the   acquisition   of 


ON  EVIL  COMMUNICATION.  163 

knowledge,  and  anxious  to  deserve  the  love  and 
the  esteem  of  those  who  are  about  them.  Such 
is  the  character  of  humanity  in  its  earlier  years, 
until  the  aj^e  of  pleasure  and  of  passion  arrives. 

At  that  eventful  age,  a  new  set  of  opinions  and 
emotions  begin  to  arise  in  their  minds ; — the  wish 
for  distinction  expands  ; — desires  of  pleasure 
awaken  : — temptations  surround  them  on  every 
side,  while  experience  has  not  yet  acquired  the 
power  of  resistance, — and  thus  the  road  opens 
upon  them  which  leads  to  folly  or  to  vice.  For 
all  this,  however,  the  wisdom  of  Him  who  made 
them  hath  bountifully  prepared,  by  the  timidity 
and  modesty  which  he  hath  added  to  the  charac- 
ter of  youth.  While  they  are  thus  tempted  to 
enjoyment,  they  are,  at  the  same  time,  beyond  any 
other  period  of  life,  fearful  of  doing  wrong ;  they 
are  fearful  of  entering  upon  scenes  where  their 
consciousness  of  ignorance  tells  them  they  are  as 
yet  unfit  to  appear  ;  they  are  fearful  of  losing  the 
esteem  and  love  of  their  early  friends ;  and  still 
more,  if  they  have  been  virtuously  brought  up, 
they  are  fearful  of  losing  the  favour  of  God,  and 
his  protection  upon  their  future  years.  By  these 
wise  and  simple  means,  the  Almighty  hath  pro- 
vided for  the  weakness  of  the  young ;  and,  even 
in  the  hours  of  ignorance,  liath  given  them  a 
guardian  in  their  own  breasts,  superiour  to  all  the 
wisdom  of  man,  to  save  them  from  the  dangers  of 
passion  and  inexperience. 


164  ON  EVIL  COMMUNICATION. 

If,  accordingly,  the  young  were  left  only  to 
nature  and  themselves,  it  is  reasonable  to  think 
that  they  might  pass  this  important  period  of  life 
"without  danger ;  and  that  whatever  might  be  the 
strength  of  their  passions,  diffidence  and  con- 
science would  be  sufficient  to  command  them.  But 
unhappily  for  them,  and  unhappily  for  the  world, 
it  is  at  this  time,  that  "  evil  communications"  begia 
to  assail  them  ;  that  they  are  deceived  by  the  pro- 
mises of  vice  and  folly  ;  and  that  all  tlie  purity  of 
early  life  is  sometimes  sacrificed,  even  at  their 
entry  upon  this  important  world. 

It  is  not  my  purpose  at  present,  my  brethren, 
to  state  the  progressive  steps  of  this  melancholy 
history ; — to  show  how  the  love  of  pleasure  un- 
dermines the  energy  and  dignity  of  the  human 
mind ;— how  the  society  and  companionship  of 
evil  gradually  breaks  down  all  the  tine  delicacy 
and  timidity  of  youth  ; — and  how  habits  of  evil 
gradually  assume  a  power  superiour  to  con- 
science, and  wind  around  the  soul  those  chains  of 
guilt  which  no  common  incident  can  afterwards 
dissolve.  A  voice  more  powerful  than  that  of 
this  place,  the  voice  of  experience,  speaks  to  the 
young  of  truths  like  these  ; — it  tells  them  of  many 
examples  of  those  who  began  life  with  every 
favourable  prospect,  and  who  have  closed  it  in 
early  years,  under  every  circumstance  of  misery 
and  disgrace ; — it  tells  them,  that  all  this,  the 
most  disastrous  fspectacle  upon  which  their  eyes 


ON  EVfL  COMMUNICATION.  165 

can  open,  has  been  the  fruit  of  "  evil  coramunica- 
*^tion;"  and  it  warns  them  "to  keep  their  own 
*'  hearts  with  all  diligence,  for  out  of  them  must 
'*  also  be  the  issues  of  their  future  lives." 

If  such  instances  can  awaken  them  to  thought 
and  meditation,  there  are  some  reflections  which  it 
is  wise  in  them,  at  this  time,  to  cherish.  It  is  wise 
in  them,  in  the  first  place,  to  remember  the  impor- 
tance of  that  feeling  of  delicacy  and  fearfulness  of 
doing  wrong,  which  is  the  most  amiable  cliaiacter- 
istick  of  their  age.  Let  not  the  ridicule  or  rudeness 
of  the  world  prevail  upon  them  to  abandon  this  first 
friend  of  their  youth.  It  is  not  the  language  of 
men, — it  is  none  other  than  the  voice  of  God, — the 
voice  of  Him  who  made  them  for  happiness  and 
immortality ;  and  who,  in  these  early  hours,  speaks 
to  them  by  a  secret  instinct,  to  warn  them  of  all 
that  is  fatal  or  disgraceful  to  tlieir  nature  ;  and, 
would  they  attend  to  it,  would  they  make  it  the 
simple  standard  by  which  to  determine  the^r  con- 
duct, the  most  eventful  years  of  life  would  pass  in 
security  and  innocence,  and  maturity  open  upon 
them  with  every  promise  of  virtue  and  honour. 

S.  It  is  wise  in  them,  in  the  second  place,  to 
reflect  for  what  it  is  that  they  were  born,  and  in 
what  consists  the  real  happiness  of  mortal  life. 
Youth,  as  well  as  age,  has  its  seasons  of  medita- 
tion, and  it  is  ever  with  a  thoughtful  and  anxious 
eye  that  they  look  down  upon  the  great  scene  upon 
which  they  are  about  to  enter.     That  scene  has 


Wfi  ON  EVIL  COMMUNICATION. 

two  principal  incidents  to  shew  them, — that  of 
those  whom  evil  communication  has  seduced  to  ruin 
and  disgrace ;  and  that  of  those  whom  perseverance 
in  good  manners  has  led  to  honour,  to  distinction, 
and  to  happiness.  In  viewing  this  scene,  let  them 
never  forget,  that  to  one  or  other  of  these  charac- 
ters they  must  belong ; — that  time  and  nature  are 
pressing  them  on  to  act  upon  that  stage  which  they 
now  only  behold ; — and  that  every  thing  that  is 
dear  to  them,  every  thing  for  which  they  would 
wish  to  live,  depends  upon  the  wise  part  which 
they  now  take,  and  which,  if  firmly  taken,  by  the 
grace  of  God,  will  never  be  taken  from  them. 

3.  It  is  wise  in  them,  in  the  last  place,  to  look 
beyond  the  world,  and  to  consider  the  final  destiny 
of  their  being.     Every  thing  tells  them,  that  they 
"were   not  born   for  a  transitory  nature,   and  that 
gospel  in  which  they  were  baptized,  has  assured 
them,  that   "  life  and  immortality  are  brought  to 
"light,"  by  Him  who  died  for  them.     Let  them 
learn,  then,  the  importance  of  that  existence  which 
is  given  them,  and  the  magnitude  of  those  hopes 
and  expectations  to  which  they  are  called.     Do 
they  dread,  (with  the  natural  generosity  of  youth,) 
to  come  short  of  these  expectations,  to  forfeit  all 
these  hopes,  and  in  the  awful  hour  of  final  judg- 
ment to  be  excluded  from  the  kingdom  of  God  ? 
Let  them  then  remember,  that  it  is  evil  conversation 
which  is  the  deadliest  enemy  of  their  peace,  the 
enemy  against  whom  it  is  most  their  business  to 


ON  EVIL  COMMUNICATION.  167 

prepare  ;  that  it  is  this  whicli  lias  so  often  withered 
all  the  promises  of  youth,  which  opened  as  fair  as 
their  own  ;  and  which  has  covered  the  remainder 
of  life  and  eternity  in  gloom  and  wo. 

Such,  my  brethren,  are  sonic  of  the  reflections, 
which,  upon  this  subject,  become  the  young. 
There  are  others  which  become  us — which  become 
those  who  have  advanced  farther  in  life,  and  whose 
characters  have  assumed  some  degree  of  consist- 
ence and  form.  The  young,  as  we  see,  are  often 
corrupted  ;  but  T  fear  it  is  not,  in  general,  by  the 
young  that  they  are  corrupted, — by  those  of  their 
own  age,  and  their  own  inexperience.  The  truth 
is,  that  to  produce  this  mighty  effect  upon  human 
nature,  to  break  flown  all  the  barriers  of  modesty 
anrl  timidity,  to  silence  the  dictates  of  conscience, 
and  dissolve  all  the  habits  of  earlier  purity,  requires 
a  much  more  powerful  influence  than  the  young  are 
willing  to  yield  to  their  fellows.  It  is  the  example 
of  those  of  a  more  advanced  age,  the  influence  of 
those  who  enjoy  rank,  and  wealth,  and  talents, 
which  are  only  adequate  to  the  production  of  this 
fatal  effect.  And  to  us,  my  elder  brethren,  it  is  a 
reflection  of  no  common  interest, — that  our  folly 
and  imprudence  may  thus  poison  the  minds  of  the 
pure,  and  introduce  guilt  and  wo  into  the  innocent 
family  of  God. 

1.  There  is,  in  the  first  place,  an  ^^  evil  commu- 
''  nication"  to  the  young,  which  proceeds  from  the 
abuse  of  rank  and  affluence.     These  are  the  liigh 


168  ON  EVIL  COMMUNICATION. 

and  the  valued  situations  of  life,  to  which  all  others 
naturally  look  up, — and  it  is  their  manners  which 
necessarily  give  the  tone  and  fashion  to  their  age. 
Of  what  value  therefore  is  it  to  every  age,  when 
these  manners  *^  are  found  in  the  way  of  righteous- 
"  ness  ;"  when  power  is  exerted  in  the  support  of 
piety  and  virtue, — and  wealth  employed  in  designs 
of  puhlick  and  private  usefulness.  Of  what  fatal 
consequence,  on  the  contrary,  is  it  to  every  gene- 
ration, when  the  reverse  is  the  case, — when  rank 
and  fashion  are  only  the  leaders  of  folly,  and  when 
riches  are  employed  in  vice  and  sordid  dissipation  ; 
— and,  what  is  even  worse,  when  the  manners  of 
the  higher  ranks  of  mankind  are  assimilated  to  all 
that  is  base  or  degrading  in  the  lower.  How 
many,  alas  !  of  the  young  are  the  victims  of  these 
abuses  of  prosperity  !  how  many,  whom  the  fasci- 
nation of  this  rank  has  led  unawares  into  extrava- 
gance and  folly ; — who,  deceived  by  exaggerated 
hopes,  or  seduced  by  fantastick  manners,  have 
forgot  their  condition,  deserted  their  most  impor- 
tant duties,  and  permitted  the  most  valuable  years 
of  life  to  pass  away  in  idleness  and  prodigality  ! 
How  many,  I  fear,  who,  from  the  same  cause,  have 
gone  farther  on  in  misery  ;  who,  acquiring  habits 
of  dissipation  altogether  unsuited  to  their  means, 
now  till  up  the  melancholy  catalogue  of  adventurers 
of  every  base  description ;  and  who  look  back, 
with  unavailing  sorrow,  upon  the  fatal  hour  which 
first  led  them  from  the  sobriety  of  early  life,  into 


ON  EVIL  COMMUNICATION.  169 

the  society  of  those  who  possess  prosperity  ouly  to 
abuse  it. 

2.  There  is,  in  the  second  place,  an  evil  com- 
munication to  the  young,  which  arises  from  the 
abuse  of  learning  and  talents.     Of  all  the  employ- 
ments of  human  wisdom,  the  noblest  certainly,  and 
the  most  genuine  is,  that  of  the  instruction  oi  the 
ignorance,  and  the  support  of  the  innocence  of 
youth.     Yet  the  world  shews  us,  that  there  are 
men  who  have  deserted  this  sublimcst  duty, — who 
please  themselves  in  si)reading  doubt  and  unbe- 
lief, — and,  under  the  magical  name  of  prejudice, 
who  delight  to  employ  their  powers  in  withdrawing 
all  the  most  sacred  principles  of  religion  and  mo- 
rality.    I  stop  not  at  present  to  tell,  my  brethren, 
from  what  weak  vanity  this  inhuman  conduct  pro- 
ceeds.    I  stop  not  to  point  out  to  you  the  tremen- 
dous effects  which  such  doctrines  have  had,  and 
ever  must  have  upon  the  minds  of  the  young.     I 
■would  only  recal  to  your  remembrance,  that,  in  this 
evil,  we  of  elder  years  are  concerned ;  that  for 
their  first  and  deepest  sentiments  of  religion  and 
virtue,  the  young  must  ever  look  up  to  us  ;  tiiat  it 
is  not  our  serious,  but  our  careless  conversation, 
which  shews  them  the  secret  of  our  minds  :  that 
the  levity  of  humour  or  of  wit,  is  more  fatal  to  their 
hearts  than  all  the  reasonings  of  infideiity  ; — and 
that,  if  we  could  leave  them  the  wealth  of  worlds, 
we  never  could  repay  them,  if  we  leave  in  their 
2$ 


170  ON  EVIL  COMMUNICATION. 

tender  minds   one  seed  or  moral  doubt^  or  one 
principle  of  religious  skepticism. 

3.  Tliere  is,  in  the  last  place,  an  evil  communi- 
cation to  the  young,  from  the  society  of  the  aged 
in  vice  itself.  The  cases  1  have  hitherto  mentioned, 
are  tliose  in  w^hich  the  young  are  rather  corrupted 
indirectly  than  directly;  and  vv^here  the  guilty  are 
themelves  in  some  degree  unconscious  of  the  evil 
they  are  doing.  There  are,  however,  we  know, 
cases  of  another  kind ;  there  are  men,  who  live  to 
seduce  the  innocent, — to  betray  the  unwary, — to 
initiate  the  thoughtless  into  the  ways  of  guilt, — and 
who  can  look  with  apathy  upon  that  present  and 
final  ruin  of  the  human  soul,  which  they  are  prepar- 
ing. I  speak  no',  my  brethren,  to  such  men.  They 
meet  us  not  here, — would  to  God  there  were  no- 
where else  they  met  the  young  !  Yet,  I  must  say 
to  all,  that  to  this  last  stage  of  human  baseness 
and  infamy  every  vice  conducts, — that  it  is  the 
natural  malignity  of  sin  to  look  for  new  asso- 
ciates,— and  that  he  who  yields  himself  to  any 
known  vice,  is  not  only  in  the  way  to  the  ruin  of 
bis  own  soul,  but  is  in  the  way  also  to  become  at 
last  the  agent  of  the  enemy  of  mankind,  in  the  ruin 
of  the  innocent  souls  who  trust,  and  are  betrayed 
by  him. 

It  is  thus,  my  brethren,  that  "evil  communica- 
^^tion  corrupts  good  manners."  It  is  thus  also, 
often,  that  this  is  done  by  those  who  are  uncon- 
scious of  the  evil  they  produce.     It  is  a  reason  to 


ON  EVIL  COMMUNICATION.  171 

all  of  US,  as  I  said,  to  call  our  ways  to  remem- 
brance, — to  the  young  to  consider  the  great  and 
eventful  journey  upon  which  they  are  going, — to 
those  who  are  more  advanced  in  life,  to  consider 
the  example  they  are  atTording. 

May  God  grant  that  these  reflections  may  dwell 
with  us  all !  that  they  who  are  entering  into  life 
may  remember,  that  to  the  innocent  is  promised 
the  kingdom  of  Heaven ;  and  that  they  who  are 
advanced  in  it,  may  remember  the  mighty  rewards 
which  await  those  "  who  lead  others  into  the  way 
<<  of  righteousness.'' 


SERMON  XIII. 


ON  THE  FAST,  FEBRUARY  27,  1806. 


Psalm  Ixxx.  19» 

"  OLord  God  of  Hosts  !  shew  the  light  of  thy  countenance,  and  we 
shall  be  whole." 

These  words  of  the  King  of  Israel  contain  a 
very  striking  representation  of  that  piety,  which^ 
amid  all  his  errours,  was  yet  the  prevailing  prin- 
ciple of  his  character.  In  some  one  of  those  sea- 
sons of  national  danger,  of  which  his  re  gn  was 
full,  "  when  his  people  were  fed  with  the  bread 
^*  of  tears, — when  they  were  made  a  strife  unto 
'^  their  neiglibours,  and  their  enemies  laughed 
^^  them  to  scorn,''  we  see  him  in  silence  ascending 
into  the  sanctuary  of  God,  and  hear  him  soliciting 
the  aid  of  Him  "  who  silteth  upon  the  cherubims.'' 
Am"d  the  darkness  which  surrounded  him,  he  im- 
plores, not  with  the  usual  presumption  of  earthly 
prayer,  that  the  God  of  Nature  should  visibly  de- 
scend to  their  relief,  but  with  the  sublimer  invo- 
cation that  his  religion  taught,  that  ''  He  would 
"  shew  the  light  of  his  countenance  ;" — that  he 


ON  THE  FAST,  1808.  173 

would  sJiew  them  what  was  the  course  they  ought 
to  pursue ; — that  he  would  display  to  them  the 
path  which  thtir  own  wisdom  could  not  discern ; 
and  then,  with  the  confidence  of  faith,  he  foretells, 
that  the  prosperity  of  his  people  would  return, — 
that  the  dangers  in  which  they  were  involved 
would  be  dispelled, — and  that  they  at  last  "•  would 
"  be  whole/' 

The  sentiment  which  is  here  expressed  by  the 
Psalmist,  is  One  in  which  every  man  and  every 
age  has  part.cipated.  Amid  the  lesser  evils  of 
life,  we  are  apt  to  trust  to  our  own  wisdom,  and 
the  wisdom  of  man  is  indeed  mercifully  propor- 
tioned to  many  of  the  common  evils  which  assail 
him.  But  there  are  evils  of  another  kind.  There 
are  seasons  of  darkness  and  calamity  to  which 
experience  bears  no  relation  ;  when  various  pas- 
sions Strug  le  for  the  mastery  in  the  divided 
bosoms  of  the  people  ;  and  when  the  feeble  eye  of 
human  wisdom  sees  not  the  ends  which  it  is  fitting 
to  pursue.  In  such  moments,  there  is  an  instinc- 
tive impulse  which  leads  us  to  prostrate  ourselves 
before  the  Throne  of  Him  "  who  inhabiteth  eter- 
"  nity.''  Under  a  conviction,  (which  lies  at  the 
bottom  of  the  human  heart,  but  which  adversity 
alone  calls  forth,)  under  the  conviction,  that  there 
is  n  order  in  nature,  and  that  there  is  a  mightier 
Wisdom  than  that  of  man,  which  presides  over 
the  events  of  humanity,  we  seek  to  know  his  will; 
— we  supplicate  him  to  teach  us  what  we  oughi 


17*4  ON  THE  FAST,  1806. 

to  do ;  and,  amid  the  depth  of  our  calamities,  and 
amid  the  "  dark  waters''  that  surround  us,  to  point 
out  the  way  and  the  path  that  are  his.  It  is  in 
such  moments  that  the  necessity  of  religion  to  hu- 
man happiness  is  most  fully  felt,  and  its  power 
most  fully  experienced.  The  beautiful  expression 
of  the  Psalmist  is  then  realized  ; — the  light  of  the 
divine  countenance  then  rises  upon  us ; — a  senti- 
ment more  dear  than  that  of  our  own  wisdom, — 
the  grateful  sentiment  of  duty — begins  to  animate 
us.  In  submitting  ourselves  to  his  laws,  we  feel 
the  presence  of  the  Eternal  Lawgiver  ;  and,  con- 
fident in  the  light  we  have  acquired,  we  return  to 
the  dangers  and  the  calamities  that  surround  us, 
animated  with  the  belief  of  a  wiser  government,  and 
resolute  to  perform  the  Omniscient  will. 

There  has  never  been  a  period,  my  brethren,  in 
the  history  of  this  country,  when  thoughts  and  re- 
solutions of  this  solemn  kind  were  so  imperiously 
called  for,  as  by  its  present  circumstances  and  sit- 
uation. The  darkness  that  for  so  many  years 
has  been  seen  at  a  distance,  begins  to  thicken 
around  us  ; — the  maxims  of  ordinary  experience, 
and  the  measures  of  ordinary  statesmen  have  fail- 
ed ; — and  no  human  wisdom  dares  now  to  pene- 
trate into  the  abyss  which  lies  before  us,  or  to 
foretell  the  issue  of  that  mighty  convulsion  which 
we  are  doomed  to  behold.  If  we  look  around  us,  we 
see  almost  the  theatre  of  Nature  changed ; — em- 
pires and  kingdoms  coeval  with  our  own,  disap- 


ON  THE  FAST,  1806.  1^5 

pear  almost  annually  from  our  view ; — the  alliances 
of  blood  ; — the  relations  of  interest ; — the  ties  of 
religion  ; — all  the  charities  of  social  life  that  cen- 
turies  of  improvement  had  nourished  and  confirmed, 
dissolve  before  our  eyes,  as  if  at  the  spell  of  en- 
chantment :  And  over  all  the  finest  portions  of  the 
earth,  where  patriotism  had  erected  its  bulwarks, 
and  learning  its  fanes,  and  piety  her  temples,  we 
see  the  sanguinary  tide  of  conquest  prevail,  and 
bury  in  its  bosom  the  loftiest  monuments  of  na- 
tions. 

If,  in  this  awful  prospect,  it  is  to  our  own  coun- 
ivy  we  look,  there  are  circumstances  of  mortality 
to  appal  the  most  sanguine  patriotism.  While, 
but  a  few  days  ago,  we  commemorated  the  glory 
of  our  arms,  we  lamented,  at  the  same  time,  the 
fall  of  that  illustrious  man  by  whom  they  were 
directed.  Since  that  time,  (short  as  the  interval 
has  been,)  we  have  seen  the  mighty  spirit  *  that, 
by  a  kind  of  hereditary  right,  governed  the  coun- 
sels of  a  free  people,  gathered  to  his  fathers  ;  and, 
on  a  distant  shore,  that  pure  and  upright  mind 
expire,!  which  was  carrying  peace  and  tranquilli- 
ty to  the  millions  of  our  Eastern  dominions.  New 
men  and  new  counsels  occupy  the  eyes  and  the 
expectations  of  the  people  ;  and  while  the  unpre- 
judiced mind  follows  them  with  its  prayers,  it  is  yet 
doomed  to  restrain  any  romantick  hope,  when  it 
remembers  how  little  former  greatness  has  done, 
and  how  much  former  wisdom  has  been  vain. 

*Mr.  Pitt;  +  Marquis  Cornwallif. 


i76  ON  THE  FAST,  1806. 

It  is  under  such  circumstances  of  alarm  that  this 
eventful  season  opens ;  and  it  is  to  prepare  our 
I  minds  for  the  approaching  dangers,  that  the  com- 
mand of  our  Sovereign  now  assembles  us  in  the 
[  house  of  God.     It  is  a  time,  indeed,  for  deep  and 
solemn  thought  :    but  I  trust  there  is   not  one 
among  us  to  whose  heart  it  can  give  fear.     There 
is  something  animating  to  every  noble  mind  in 
the  approach  of  great  dangers  ;  and   we  are  met 
together,  with  all   our  fellow  citizens,    upon   this 
clay,  not  to  bewail  ourselves  in  useless  lamenta- 
tion, but  to  exalt  our  minds  to  meet  every  coming 
danger,  and  to  implore  that  wisdom  and  resolution 
from  on  High,  which  may  fit  us  for  the  scenes  we 
are  destined  to  encounter. 

1.  It  is  our  wisdom,  in  the  first  place,  to  pre- 
pare ourselves,  by  considering  well  the  magnitude 
and  extent  of  our  danger.  There  is  a  weakness 
incident  to  men,  and  still  more  to  nations,  in  the 
periods  of  splendour  and  prosperity,  to  underrate 
the  calamities  which  may  befal  them,  and  to  de- 
ride every  voice  that  speaks  to  them  of  alarm.  I 
trust,  indeed,  that  no  such  weakness  prevails 
among  us  ;  yet  I  know  not  that  the  danger  is  seen 
in  all  its  magnitude  ;  and  every  aspect  of  human 
affairs,  whether  of  past  or  present  times,  seems 
to  call  us  to  vigilance  and  preparation.  If  we 
look  to  the 'times  that  are  past,  it  is  the  ruins  only 
of  mankind  that  meet  our  eye.  Nations  as  proud, 
as  prosperous  as  ours,  have  fallen  amid  all  their 


ON  THE  FAST,  1806.  177 

greatness  ;  ami  a  voice  seems  to  issue  from  their 
tombs,  to  tell  us,  that  it  was  not  the  hand  of 
nature,  the  earthquake,  the  pestilence,  or  the 
storm,  which  had  wrought  their  desolation,  but 
the  w^eakness,  the  crimes,  and  the  cowardice  of 
man.  If  we  look  to  the  present  times,  tliey  dis- 
play to  us  nothing  but  the  power  and  the  ferocity 
of  that  enemy,  whose  steps  approach  our  shores. 
Over  the  once  varied  scenes  of  Europe,  the  torpid 
level  of  despotism  now  stagnates  ;  and  the  tide 
which  has  overwhelmed  the  rest  of  the  world  is 
rolling  onward  its  accumulated  waves  towards  us. 

The  question  is  not  now,  (as  in  the  petty  con- 
troversies of  usual  warfare,)  of  provinces  or  of 
allies, — of  infant  colonies,  or  remote  dependen- 
cies. It  is.  Whether  our  country  itself  is  to  exist 
or  to  perish  ? — Whether  this  mighty  empire  is  at 
once  to  be  dissolved,  and  to  be  erased  from  the 
catalogue  of  nations  ? 

2.  If  such  be  our  danger,  it  is  our  wisdom,  in 
the  second  place,  to  consider  well  w  hat  are  the 
means  by  which  it  can  be  withstood.  We  live 
not  under  a  dispensation  in  which  the  Almighty 
will  visibly  bare  his  arm,  as  in  the  protection  of 
liis  ancient  and  ^*  chosen  people,'^ — but  we  live 
in  a  world  of  order  and  of  justice;  and  there  is  a 
beneficent  law  of  Providence,  which  every  where 
proportions  the  resources  of  the  human  mind  to 
the  diificulties  with  which  it  is  to  contend,  and 
which,  with  the  trials  which  it  brings,  brings  also 
S3 


17H  on  the  fast,  1800. 

the  means  by  which  they  may  be  overcome.  Other 
nations  have  experienced  the  conflicts  with  which 
we  are  now  assailed ; — other  conquerors  have 
appeared  in  the  history  of  former  ages,  and  have 
been  baffled  by  the  spirit  of  freemen ; — and  the 
noblest  record  which  history  displays  of  national 
glory,  is  that  of  those  who,  under  every  disadvan- 
tage, have  discomfited  the  hosts  of  tyranny,  and 
thought  nothing  lost  when  they  preserved  their 
honour  and  their  freedom.  If  we  look  farther 
into  the  subject, — if  we  look  to  the  human  causes 
of  their  success, — we  shall  find  that  they  have 
every  where  resolved  themselves  into  these,  union, 
bravery,  and  publick  spirit.  The  history  of  the 
past  world,  dark  as  it  may  appear,  and  loaded  as 
it  is  with  the  vices  of  men,  contains  not  a  single 
instance,  perhaps,  in  which  those  nations  were 
overcome,  who  were  at  once  free,  and  brave,  and 
united  ;  and  the  history  of  the  present  world,  amid 
all  its  darkness,  tells  us  in  every  hour,  that  it  is 
not  alone  the  might  of  the  conqueror  which  has 
prevailed,  but  the  baseness,  the  selfishness,  and 
the  divisions  of  the  conquered.  It  is  with  a  sen- 
timent of  thankfulness,  and  yet  of  dread,  that  I 
say,  that  amid  all  the  dangers  which  surround  us, 
the  means  of  safety  are  yet  in  our  own  hands  : 
and  that  the  same  Providence  which  has  called  us 
to  the  trial,  has  afforded  us  also  the  power  of 
overcoming  it.  We  have  wealth,  if  we  have  the 
patriotism  to  employ  it ; — we  have  numbers,  if 


ON  THE  FAST,  1806.  iTd 

onr  hearts  are  united  ; — we  have  arms,  if  we  have 
bravery  to  wield  thera.  Tlie  benefieeuec  of  Hea- 
ven has  bestowed  upon  us  all  the  means  by  which 
either  our  freedom  or  our  honour  can  be  maintain- 
ed. Tlie  world  are  to  be  the  spectators  of  the 
conflict ;  and,  in  the  solemn  pause  that  precedes 
the  day  of  struggle,  it  is  the  business  of  every  man 
to  prepare  that  armour  of  the  soul,  which  may  fit 
him  for  the  hardships  he  is  to  endure. 

8.  There  is  yet,  however,  my  brethren,  another 
and  a  mightier  preparation,  and  there  is  an  advan- 
tage superiour  to  every  other,  with  which  we  can 
enter  upon  the  scene  of  conflict, — the  advantage 
that  our  cause  is  just, — that  it  is  the  cause  alike  of 
our  freedom,  and  our  faith, — and  that  the  present 
and  the  eternal  interests  of  our  people  are  involved 
in  its  defence.  In  such  a  cause,  we  need  no  dark 
oracle  to  direct  us.  Although  the  voice  of  human 
wisdom  were  silent,  the  voice  of  the  Almighty 
speaks  to  us  sufficiently,  when  it  speaks  to  us  in 
conscience.  Deep  as  may  be  the  clouds  that 
overshadow  the  future,  the  finger  of  religion  points 
securely  to  the  path  of  safety,  when  it  points  to  the 
path  of  duty. 

It  is  here,  therefore,  my  brethren,  that,  in  these 
dark  hours,  we  ought  to  be  found.  It  is  around 
the  altar  of  God  that  we  should,  in  these  moments, 
assemble  with  all  the  people  of  our  land  ;  and 
while  his  will  is  manifested  by  the  duties  he  has 
§iven  us  to  perform,  that  we  should  devote  our« 


iSe  ON  THE  FAST,  1806. 

selves  to  the  cause  in  wliicli  we  are  engaged,  and 
invoke,  w^ith  uplifted  hands,  the  ''  spirit  from  on 
"  liigh,"  to  animate  us  in  their  disih  rge. 

It  is  a  cause  in  which  no  doubt  hangs  upon  the 
soldier's   he?  rt,    or   weakens    the    soldier's    arm. 
It   is  no    warfare  of  national  pride,  or  commer- 
cial avarice,    or  military  ambition,   that  now  calls 
him  into  the  field.     It  is  the  simple  and  the  sanc- 
tified defence  of  his  country  ; — it   is   the   defence, 
in  our   own   land,  of  whatever   antiquity  has  ren- 
dered dear,   or  experience  valuable,    or  religion 
sacred  ; — it  is,  in  a  greater  view,   the   defence  of 
the  moral  constitution  of  human  nature ;  the  de- 
fence of  truth   and  justice  and  order  throughout 
the  world.     Other  nations  in  the  history  of  man, 
have  been  called  to  the  defence  of  their  own  free- 
dom ;  to  us  is  now  committed   the  sublimer  duty 
of  vindicating  the  freedom  of  social  man,  and  re- 
establishing the  prosperity  of  the  civilized  world. 
It  is  a  cause,    in   another   view,    in   which   the 
blessings  of  the  wise,  and  the  prayers  of  the  good, 
follow  us  from  the  remotest  habitati  »ns  of  man.    If 
to  act  in  the   presence    of  many  spectators  be  a 
motive,  even  to  the  feeblest  mind,  to  act  nobly, — 
how  lofty  are  the  achievements,   which,   in  these 
eventful    hours,   are  demanded    of  this  country  ? 
The  eyes  of  the  whole  European  continent  are  fix- 
ed upon  it,  as  upon  the  champion  of  their  common 
( ause.     There  is  not  a  country  where  the  heart  of 
the  inhabitant  does  not  throb  with  hope  or  with 
fear,  at  the  sound  of  our  name  ; — there  is  not  an 


ON  THE  FAST,  1806.  181 

altar  in  the  whole  baptized  world,  from  which  the 
prayer  of  the  pious  does  not  silently  arise  for  the 
success  of  our  arms. 

It  is  a  cause,  in  a  greater  view,  in  which  the 
unchangeable  laws  of  the  Almighty  are  with  us. 
The  world  has  seen  other  conquerors  and  other 
despots.  It  has  wept  before  the  march  of  tempo- 
rary ambition,  and  bled  beneath  the  sword  of  tran- 
sitory conquest.  But  nature  has  rcassumed  her 
rights ;  and  while  conquerors  have  sunk  into  an 
execrated  grave,  and  tyrants  have  perished  in  the 
zenith  of  their  power,  the  race  of  men  have  raised 
again  their  dejected  heads,  and  peace,  and  order, 
and  freedom  have  spread  themselves  througliout 
the  world.  Such,  my  brethren,  will  also  be  the 
termination  of  the  tragedy  of  our  day,  and  such  is 
the  confidence  which  they  ought  ever  to  maintain, 
upon  whom  "  the  Almighty  hath  lifted  up  the  light 
'^  of  his  countenance."  We  are  witnessing,  indeed, 
the  most  tremendous  spectacle  which  the  theatre 
of  nature  has  ever  exhibited,  of  the  pride  and  am- 
bition of  man.  For  years,  our  attention  has  been 
fixed  upon  that  great  and  guilty  country,  which 
has  been  fertile  in  nothing  but  revolution,  and  from 
which,  amid  the  clouds  that  cover  it,  we  have  seen 
at  last  that  dark  and  shapeless  form  arise,  which, 
like  the  vision  that  appalled  the  King  of  Babylon, 
'^  hath  its  legs  of  iron,  and  its  arms  of  brass.'' 
We  have  seen  it  extend  its  terrifick  si  arlow  over 
every  surrounding  people,  and  the  sinews  of  man 


ON  THE  FAST,  1806. 

to  wither  at  its  approach.  We  see  it  now  collect- 
ing all  its  might,  and  thinking  to  change  times,  and 
laws,  and  speaking  great  words  against  the  Mcjst 
High.  Yet,  wliile  our  eye  strains  to  measure  its 
dimensions,  and  our  ear  shrinks  at  the  threatening 
of  its  voice,  let  us  survey  it  with  the  searching  eye 
of  the  prophet,  and  we  shall  see,  that  its  feet  are 
oTbase  and  perishable  clay.  Amid  all  the  terrours 
of  its  brightness,  it  has  no  foundation  in  the  moral 
stability  of  justice.  It  is  irradiated  by  no  beam 
from  Heaven, — it  is  blessed  by  no  prayer  *of  man, 
— it  is  worshipped  with  no  gratitude  of  the  patriot 
heart.  It  may  remain  for  the  time,  or  the  times 
that  are  appointed  it.  But  the  awful  hour  is  on 
the  wing,  when  the  universe  will  resound  with  its 
fall;  and  that  sun  which  measures  out,  as  with  re- 
luctance, the  length  of  its  impious  reign,  will  one 
day  pour  his  undecaying  beams  amid  its  ruins,  and 
bring  forth,  from  the  earth  which  it  has  oversha- 
dowed, the  promises  of  a  greater  spring. 

There  are  limits  in  the  moral  as  well  as  in  the 
material  system  to  the  dominion  of  evil ;  there  are 
limits  to  the  guilt  and  injustice  of  nations,  as  well 
as  of  individuals.  There  is  a  time  when  cunning 
ceases  to  delude,  and  hypocrisy  to  deceive  ; — when 
power  ceases  to  overawe,  and  oppression  will  no 
longer  be  borne.  Even  now  that  period  seems  to 
be  approaching.  It  is  impossible  that  man  can 
become  retrograde  in  his  progress  ; — it  is  impossi- 
ble that  the  hands  of  the  oppressed  can  longer 


ON  THE  FAST,  1806.  1«3 

beckon  the  approach  of  a  power  which  comes  to 
load  them  only  with  heavier  chains  ; — it  is  impos- 
sible that  the  nations  of  Europe,  cradled  in  civili- 
zation, and  baptized  into  the  liberty  of  the  children 
of  God,  can  long  continue  to  bend  their  free-born 
heads  before  the  feet  of  foreign  domination,  or  that 
they  can  suffer  tlie  stream  of  knowledge  which  so 
long  has  animated  their  soil,  to  terminate  at  last  in 
the  deep  stagUtation  of  military  despotism.  Even 
the  country  itself  which  has  given  it  birth,  cannot 
long  submit  to  its  rule  ; — it  bleeds  in  the  liour  that 
it  triumphs : — it  is  goaded  to  exertions  which  it 
loaths  ; — its  laurels  arc  wet  with  the  tears  of  those 
who  are  bereaved  of  their  children.  The  virtuous 
man  shudders  when  he  beholds  the  crimes  and  the 
guilt  of  his  count^^ ;  and  the  heart  of  the  pious 
man  faileth  him,  when  he  looks  forward  to  the 
"things  that  are  coming"  upon  those  banners 
which  are  raised  against  the  rights  of  man,  and 
which  are  unblessed  by  the  voice  of  Heaven. 

It  was  the  high  sentiment  of  ancient  patriotism, 
^'  never  to  despair  of  the  commonwealth."  It  is 
the  nobler  sentiment  of  Christian  piety,  never  to 
despair  of  the  fortunes  of  the  human  race.  Privi- 
leged to  enter  into  the  Temple  of  the  God  of  Hosts, 
to  the  Christian  eye  it  is  given  to  behold  the  ^'  light 
"  of  His  countenance  ;"  and  dark  and  dangerous 
as  may  be  the  wilderness  through  which  it  ig 
doomed  to  pass,  before  it  are  still  steadily  dis» 
played  the  glories  of  the  "  promised  laud.'' 


184  ON  THE  FAST,  1806. 

If  these  be  the  high  sentiments,  my  brethren, 
with  which  we  have  met  this  day ; — if  the  same 
Providence  which  has  nnited  us  in  devotion,  has 
united  al^o  our  hearts  and  our  resolutions, — if  one 
feeling  of  duty  has  animated  every  soul,  and  one 
prayer  for  assistance  has  breathed  from  every  bo- 
som, then  ^'  let  not  our  hearts  be  troubled." — Our 
faith,  our  freedom,  our  country,  "  will  yet  be 
^^  whole.'^  "  The  might  of  God  will  arise"  in  our 
hearts,  and  by  our  arras  "  will  his  enemies  be  scat- 
*'  tered."  "  The  earth  will  again  bring  forth  her 
^^  increase,  and  God,  even  our  own  God,  will  give 
^*  us  his  blessing.  God  will  bless  us  :  and  all  the 
'^  ends  of  the  world  will  fear  Him." 


SERMON   XrV, 


ON  FREEDOM  OF  THOUGHT, 


1  St.  Peter  ii.  16, 

''As  free,  and  not  using  your  liberty  as  a  cloak  of  maliciousness,  but 
as  the  servants  of  God." 

It  lias  often  been  observed  in  the  history  of 
learning,  that  one  of  the  most  fertile  sources  of 
errour  consists  in  the  ambiguity  of  words.  The 
observation  is  unfortunately  equally  applicable  to 
the  history  of  morality ;  and  they  who  have  at- 
tended to  the  causes  by  which  the  understanding 
is  misled  from  the  imperfections  of  language,  will 
not  be  surprised  at  the  deeper  errours  into  which 
similar  causes  may  mislead  the  heart.  For  the 
general  principles  of  human  conduct,  we  have 
general  appellations.  But  for  the  excess  or  the 
defect  of  these  principles,  we  have  no  distinct  or 
specifick  names  ;  and  we  are  all  willing  to  shelter 
ourselves  under  the  ambiguity  of  a  word,  when 
conscience  tells  us  that  we  are  guilty  with  regard 
to  what  it  really  means.  It  is  thus  that  avarice 
calls  itself  prudence,  and  profusion,  generosity ; — 


186  ON  FREEDOM  OF  THOUGHT. 

that  presumption  assumes  the  name  of  ambition^ 
and  party  spirit  that  of  patriotism  ; — and  that,  ac- 
cording to  the  various  dispositions  of  our  ciiaiacter, 
some  of  the  worst  and  most  malignant  vices  of  our 
nature  are  sheltered,  in  our  apprehension,  under 
the  most  sounding  appellations  of  virtue. 

Of  tliis  kind,  there  is  not  perhaps  one  in  the 
wide  circle  of  human  weakness  which  has  been 
productive  of  more  fatal  effects  than  the  name  of 
Freedom  of  Thought.  It  is  a  term,  which  in  it- 
self expresses  much  greatness  and  exaltation  of 
mind  ;  but  it  is  one  also  which  covers  ambiguities 
that  have  been  fatal  to  thousands,  and  under  which 
have  been  concealed  many  of  the  darkest  and  most 
malignant  dispositions  that  have  ever  debased  the 
character  of  man.  If  we  consider  it,  in  its  first 
aspect,  it  is  the  great  and  majestick  principle  of  all 
human  improvement, — the  source  from  which  has 
sprung  much  of  all  that  dignifies  or  adorns  the 
society  of  men.  It  is  this  which,  in  private  life, 
has  ministered  in  every  age  to  the  pi'ogress  of 
society, — which  has  created  its  opulence,  and  ex- 
tended its  comforts,  and  given  to  all  the  arts  of 
life  their  origin  and  progression.  It  is  this,  in  the 
history  of  science,  which  has  dispelled  the  dark- 
ness of  ignorance  and  of  prejudice,  which  has 
gradually  extended,  with  the  progress  of  time,  the 
limits  of  human  knowledge,  and  raised,  by  de- 
grees, the  eye  of  man  to  the  throne  ^*  of  Him  that 
^^inhabiteth  eternity."     It  is  this,  in  the  same 


ON  FREEDOM  OF  THOUGHT.  187 

manner,  in  publick  life,  which  has  given  to  soci- 
ety itself  its  progress,  which,  disdaining  the  nar- 
row institutions  of  antiquity,  has  sought  for  more 
perfect  models  of  legislation,  and  which  has  la- 
boured to  establish  the  prosperity  of  nations,  upon 
the  unchanging  principles  of  justice  and  of  nature. 
Such  have  been  the  consequences  of  the  free- 
dom and  independence  of  thought,  when  we  con- 
sider it  in  its  first  aspect. 

There  is,  however,  another  view  of  the  subject; 
and  we  are  constrained  to  acknowledge,  that,  from 
the  same  principle  have  arisen  some  of  the  most 
fatal  evils  with  which  humanity  has  ever  been  dis- 
turbed or  afflicted.  It  is  hence,  in  every  age,  that 
the  most  sacred  principles  of  religion  and  of  virtue 
have  been  shaken  or  undermined  ;  and  that  the 
most  majestick  truths  which  the  human  under- 
standing can  attain,  have  been  ranked  with  the 
prejudices  of  infancy  : — it  is  hence  that  the  histo- 
ry of  science  has  been  degraded,  in  almost  every 
age,  by  the  dreams  and  imaginations  of  men  ;  and 
that  the  philosopher,  instead  of  regarding  nature 
as  the  workmansliip  of  the  Most  High,  has  dared 
to  approach  to  its  investigation,  only  to  inscribe 
his  feeble  name  upon  the  altar  where  he  ought  to 
have  worshipped  : — It  is  hence,  in  the  publick 
aifairs  of  men,  that  those  bold  and  unprincipled 
speculations  have  arisen,  which  have  paused  nei- 
ther at  the  majesty  of  the  throne,  nor  the  sanctity 
of  the  altar  5  and  which,  under  the  name  of  liberty, 


188  ON  FREEDOM  OF  THOUGHT. 

have  cloaked  the  basest  maliciousness  of  which 
the  human  heart  is  capable, — that  of  liazarding 
the  peace  and  happiness  of  millions  for  the  sake 
of  its  own  poor  and  evanescent  fame.  Such  have 
been  the  effects  of  Freedom  of  Thought,  when  we 
consider  it  under  its  second  aspect. 

What  then  is  the  distinction  between  principles 
to  which  the  same  name  applies  ?  When  shall  we 
ascertain  that  the  one  ceases  to  be  virtuous,  and 
that  the  other  begins  to  become  criminal  ?  And 
still  more,  in  what  manner  can  we  decide  in  our 
own  cases,  whether,  in  the  employment  of  the 
native  liberty  of  thought,  we  are  acting  like  vir- 
tuous or  like  guilty  men  ?  These  are  questions 
of  no  mean  importance.  There  is  not  one  of  us 
to  whom  they  do  not  apply,  either  in  relation  to 
the  regulation  of  our  own  thoughts,  or  in  relation 
to  the  influence  that  our  conversation  may  have 
on  those  around  us.  They  are  of  still  more  im- 
portance to  a  peculiar  class  of  those  who  hear 
me, — I  mean,  to  the  young  ;  to  those  who  have 
entered  upon  the  magnificent  career  of  learning; 
to  whom  education  is  unfolding  all  the  powers 
of  intellectual  wisdom ;  and  who  are  preparing 
themselves,  in  various  ways,  for  the  highest  em- 
ployment which  life  can  offer,  that  of  being  the 
teachers  and  instructers  of  mankind.  To  them 
these  questions  are  immeasurably  important. 
They  suit  their  age,  their  circumstances,  and  the 
ardent  generosity  of  their  youth  ;   and  I  trus(^ 


ON  FREEDOM  OF  THOUGHT.  189 

therefore,  they  will  not  withhold  from  me  their 
attention,  while  I  state,  in  a  few  words,  the  sim- 
ple answer  of  conscience  and  of  nature  to  this 
inquiry. 

That  energy,then,  and  independence  of  thought, 
which  the  Apostle  descrihes  under  the  name  of 
liberty,  may  be  considered  in  two  views ;  and  in 
one  or  other  of  these  views  is  necessarily  employ- 
ed by  every  man  who  exercises  it.  It  is  either 
employed  as  a  means,  or  as  an  end  ; — it  is  either 
employed  as  a  means  for  the  purposes  for  which 
the  Author  of  Nature  bestowed  it,  or  as  an  end 
which  man  creates  for  himself,  and  independent 
of  the  purpose  for  which  it  was  bestowed.  It  is 
in  this  simple  distinction,  I  apprehend,  that  we 
shall  find  the  answer  to  all  our  inquiries. 

1.  The  great  purpose  for  which  the  powers  and 
the  liberty  of  thought  were  bestowed,  was  for 
the  discovery  of  Truth  ;  for  the  discovery  of 
those  speculative  truths  which  conduct  us  to  the 
love  of  God,  and  of  those  practical  truths  which 
enable  us  to  be  the  ministers  of  good  to  man ; 
and  liberty  and  independence  of  thought  Iiave 
been  the  means  of  conducting  the  progress  of  the 
generations  of  men,  and  of  raising  every  succeed- 
ing age  above  the  knowledge  and  the  usefulness 
of  that  which  preceded  it.  When,  therefore, 
freedom  of  thought  is  employed  as  a  means  to 
these  its  destined  ends ;  when  it  is  devoted  to 
the  simple  investigation  of  truth, — and  looks  to 


190  ON  FREEDOM  OF  THOUGHT. 

nothing  for  reward,  but  to  the  discovery  of  trutTi, 
• — it  is  then,  in  every  case,  a  noble  and  a  virtuous 
principle,  and  he  who  feels  it  is  acting  from  some 
of  the  most  respectable  motives  of  his  nature. 
He  is  acting,  in  the  first  place,  in  conformity  to 
the  laws  of  his  constitution,  and  has  the  secret 
voice  of  conscience  applauding  him  amid  every 
difficulty  of  his  progress.  He  is  acting,  in  the 
second  place,  with  the  dignity  that  belongs  to 
tlie  character  of  man  ;  and,  while  the  world 
around  him  are  swayed  either  by  the  prejudices 
of  antiquity,  or  by  the  idler  prejudices  of  novelty, 
he  stands  as  the  arbiter  of  the  contest,  and  as 
superiour  to  all  the  prejudices  which  influence 
lower  minds.  He  is  acting  still  farther,  in  the 
lofty  language  of  the  apostle,  <^  as  the  servant  of 
^^  God,"  employing  the  mighty  talents  of  thought 
and  reflection  to  their  genuine  ends  ;  and  thus 
fitting  himself  to  be  the  minister  of  wisdom  and  of 
happiness,  not  only  to  his  own  generation,  but  to 
all  the  future  generations  of  men. 

3.  When  freedom  of  thought  is  employed,  in 
the  second  manner,  when  it  is  employed  as  an  end 
in  itself,  it  is  a  principle  which  arises  from  very 
different  causes,  and  is  productive  of  very  differ- 
ent effects.  There  is  naturally  much  admiration 
due  to  that  strength  and  independence  of  mind 
which  can  detect  errour,  or  which  can  discover 
truth ; — and  there  is  every  where,  accordingly, 
much  genuine  admiration  paid  to  it.    It  is  in  this 


ON  FREEDOM  OF  THOUGHT.  191 

admiration  that  the  danger  and  the  snare  consists. 
Because  freedom  of  thtui^ht  has  been  the  great 
instrument  of  the  discovery  of  truth,  it  is  hastily 
(but  not  unnaturally)  concluded,  that  all  this  is 
due  to  the  freedom  of  thought  itself;  and  the  admi- 
ration which  the  world  gives  is  attributed,  not  to 
the  effects  which  are  produced,  but  to  the  talents 
or  the  energy  which  produces  them.  It  is  hence, 
in  every  age,  that  the  young,  the  vain,  and  the  sel- 
fish, are  misled,  or  mislead  themselves  ; — that 
the  young  are  misled  by  their  admiration  of  talents, 
ivithout  considering  the  ends  to  which  they  are 
directed  ; — that  the  vain  imagine  they  can  give 
themselves  reputation  by  novelty  of  opinion,  with- 
out considering  whither  these  opinions  lead  ; — 
and  that  the  selfish,  looking  to  nothing  but  their 
own  momentary  fame,  prostitute  with  willingness 
the  noblest  acquisitions  of  their  nature,  and  disre- 
gard alike  the  admonitions  of  God,  and  the  most 
sacred  interests  of  human  kind.  What  the  con- 
sequences have  been  of  these  base  and  malignant 
passions,  in  every  age  of  the  world,  and  in  every 
department  of  human  knowledge,  it  would  be  un- 
necessary for  me  to  repeat  to  those  who  hear  me. 
It  is  they,  as  you  well  know,  far  more  than  the 
imperfections  of  understanding,  which  have  re- 
tarded the  progress  of  truth  in  every  direction,  and 
multiplied  those  vain  and  presumptuous  specula- 
tions, which  it  is  now  the  business  of  true  philoso- 
phy to  unlearn  and  to  despise.    It  is  they,  still 


192  ON  FREEDOM  OF  THOUGHT. 

more,  wliicli  have  most  fatally  mingled  themselves 
with  the  business  of  our  moral  being  ;  which  have 
started  doubts  which  they  wished  not  to  resolve, 
and  created  difficulties,  which,  on  all  other  sub- 
jects, they  would  have  despised ;  which  have 
sought  to  withdraw  the  Sun  of  Righteousness  from 
the  firmament  to  which  every  eye  in  nature  is 
turned ;  and  which,  under  the  cloak  of  liberty, 
with  a  maliciousness  of  which  one  would  have 
thought  tlie  human  heart  incapable,  have  delibe- 
rately perverted  all  the  powers  of  understanding, 
which  were  given  for  the  discovery  of  Truth,  to 
the  creation  of  doubt,  and  the  dissemination  of 
infidelity. 

Such  is  then,  my  young  friends,  the  plain  an- 
swer to  this  important  inquiry ;  and  such  the 
standard  by  which  you  can  yourselves  determine 
whether  you  are  to  be  the  servants  of  God,  or  the 
servants  of  the  maliciousness  of  man.  If,  in  these 
happy  but  eventful  hours  of  education,  you  feel 
the  genuine  love  of  truth  ; — if,  with  the  powers 
which  are  given  you,  you  feel  at  the  same  time 
the  mighty  purpose  for  which  they  were  given  ; — 
if,  in  generous  ardour  for  the  extension  of  know- 
ledge and  of  happiness,  you  forget  yourselves  and 
the  little  vanity  of  your  hour ; — if,  in  short,  you 
feel  that  opinions  are  valuable  in  your  estimation, 
not  because  they  are  /ree,  but  because  they  are 
truBf  then  go  on,  in  the  sight  of  God  and  of  man, 
to  the  true  honours  of  your  moral  and  intellectual 


ON  FREEDOM  OF  THOUGHT.  19ii 

"being.  It  is  in  this  discipline  you  can  acquire  I'oi- 
yourselves  permanent  fame  ; — it  is  thus  you  can 
prepare  yourselves  to  be  the  benefactors  of  man- 
kind ; — it  is  thus  that  you  can  become  the  servants 
of  God,  and  be  the  ministers  of  his  benevolence  to 
a  lower  world. 

But  if  it  be  otherwise,  my  young  friends,  if  van- 
ity and  presumption  have  already  seized  upon 
your  minds,  fitted  for  better  things  ;  if,  in  the  em- 
ployment of  the  powers  of  thought,  you  look  only 
to  your  own  distinction,  and  care  not  for  the  ends 
for  which  they  were  given  ;  if  the  name  of  genius 
has  more  influence  upon  your  minds  than  the 
name  of  truth  ;  if,  in  short,  in  your  own  bosoms 
you  feel,  that  opinions  are  become  valuable  to 
you,  not  because  they  are  triie,  but  because  they 
are/ree,  pause,  I  beseech  you,  before  you  advance 
farther.  You  are  hazarding  every  thing  that  is 
most  dear  to  the  mind  of  man  ; — you  are  hazard- 
ing your  fame,  your  usefulness,  and  your  salva- 
tion ; — and  you  are  sacrificing,  for  the  vanity  of 
an  hour,  every  thing  for  which  every  generous 
and  noble  mind  lives,  and  would  wish  to  live. 

I  cannot  speak  to  your  age,  my  brethren,  with 
all  the  language  .which  this  place  would  justify; 
I  will  speak  to  you  only  on  the  principle  of  your 
education  ;  and  1  will  request  you,  in  the  first 
place,  to  look  back,  from  that  eminence  upon 
which  you  stand,  to  the  past  ages,  which  you  can 
now   survey  with   the   calmness  of  philosophy. 


li*4  ON  FREEDOM  OF  THOUGHT. 

Look  back,  then,  to  those  names  or  to  those  works 
which  the  stream  of  ancient  time  has  brought  to 
you ;  to  those  names  which  first  have  warmed 
your  hearts  to  glory  ;  which  are  made  sacred  to 
you  by  the  first  impressions  they  gave  you  of  the 
greatness  of  your  nature,  and  of  which  these  early 
impressions  are  confirmed  by  the  voice  of  every 
age  that  has  succeeded  them ; — look  back,  1  be- 
seecli  you,  to  such  names ;  and  ask  yourselves 
what  was  their  character?  you  will  find  that  it 
rests  in  this  alone,  that  they  were  the  follow- 
ers of  tiTith, — that  they  devoted  all  their  pow- 
ers to  that  mighty  pursuit,  of  which  conscience 
prescribed  the  end, — and  that  neither  the  neglect 
nor  the  applause  of  their  age  could  seduce  them 
from  the  lofty  path  which  was  presented  to  them. 
They  are  gone,  and  the  grave  has  covered  them 
for  many  hundred  years  ; — but  they  live  in  th* 
memory  of  mankind  ;  they  breathe,  even  to  pre- 
sent times,  the  instructions  of  virtue,  and  the  sen- 
timents of  piety  ;  and,  with  an  immortality  em- 
blematick  of  their  own,  they  will  remain  to  every 
future  age,  the  friends  and  the  benefactors  of  the 
world. 

Look  back,  I  beseech  you,  on  the  other  hand, 
to  a  different  history ;  to  the  history  of  those 
whose  names  degrade  the  era  of  their  existence, 
whose  genius  has  been  devoted  only  to  the  corrup- 
tion of  private  morals,  or  the  destruction  of  pub- 
lick  virtue,  and  whose  works  remain,  amid  the 


ON  FREEDOM  OF  THOUGHT.  195 

Stream  of  time,  as  the  monuments  of  human  infa. 
my; — and   ask   yourselves    what   also  was  their 
character  ?  what  was  the  imperious  motive  which 
could  thus  dissolve  all   the  obligations  of  con- 
science,  and  all  the   foundations   of   honourable 
fame  ?  you  will  find  that  it  rests  in  simple  vanity  ; 
in  the  wish  to  be  distinguished  by  the  freedom, 
when  they   could   not   be   distinguished    by  the 
truth  of  their  opinions ;   and   in  the   dark  despe- 
ration  of  sacrificing  every  thing   for   which  the 
virtuous  live,  for  the  sake  of  a  base  and  momen- 
tary fame.     They  too  are  gone,  and  the  grave  has 
sheltered  them  from  the  scorn  and  indignation  of 
man.     But  their  works  remain,  to  diffuse  poison 
through  every  future  race,  to  entail  the  vice  and 
guilt  by  which  their  authors  can  no  longer  profit, 
upon  every  succeeding  generation  ;  and  to  mark 
to  mankind,  to  what  a  length  and  continuity  of 
guilt  the  liberty  of  thought  can  go,  when  it  ceases 
to  be  the  servant  of  God,  and  becomes  the  slave 
of  its  own  malicious  vanity. 

From  this  prospect  of  the  past,  turn  your  eyes, 
my  young  friends,  to  the  prospect  of  the  future. 
There  is  a  voice  at  that  altar,  and  there  is  a  voice 
in  the  altar  of  your  own  hearts,  which  speaks  to 
you  of  immortality.  Listen  then,  1  beseech  you, 
to  its  prophetick  declarations  ;  and  while  you  fol- 
low in  dread  pursuit  the  spirits  of  those  who  have 
gone  before  you,  ask  yourselves  in  what  man- 
dions    these    difierent  characters  ouglit  now  to 


196  ON  FREEDOM  OF  THOUGHT. 

dwell  ?  When  you  follow  tlie  path  of  the  first, 
of  those  who  have  devoted  here  all  the  powers  of 
understanding  to  the  discovery  or  the  support  of 
those  truths  by  which  G  od  is  glorified,  and  man 
made  wiser  and  better, — your  imagination  assumes 
the  confidence  of  faith,  and  you  see  them  now 
the  companions  of  the  just  whose  spirits  are  made 
perfect, — the  associates  of  the  wise  and  good  of 
every  age, — the  friends  of  the  angels  and  the 
archangels  who  bear  the  errands  of  mercy  amid 
unnumbered  worlds,  and  surrounding  the  throne 
of  Him,  whom,  through  the  veil  of  mortality,  they 
dared  to  seek,  and  whom  now  "they  see,  not 
^'  darkly,  but  as  He  is." 

If  you  follow  the  path  of  the  second,  of  those 
who  have  prostituted  the  noblest  gifts  of  nature 
to  the  purposes  of  their  own  selfishness  ;  and 
who,  in  raising  themselves  to  the  distinction  of 
an  hour,  have  trampled  upon  all  the  most  sacred 
and  genuine  truths  of  their  being, — where  is  it, 
my  brethren,  to  which  the  conscience  of  your 
imagination  leads,  and  who  are  the  fit  compan- 
ions of  such  spirits  ?  Your  eye,  perhaps,  recoils 
from  the  prospect ;  yet,  remember,  my  friends, 
that  the  fundamental  principle  of  nature  is  jus- 
tice,— that  <^  what  a  man  soweth,  he  must  also 
*^  reap ;" — "  that  of  those  to  whom  much  is  given, 
<^'  much  must  be  required  ;"  and  that  learning  and 
genius,  while  they  carry  with  them  the  highest 
honours  of  which  man  is  capable,  carry  with 


\ 


ON  FREEDOM  OF  THOUGHT.  197 

them,  at  the  same  time,  the  deepest  responsibili- 
ty which  his  nature  can  either  contract  or  pay. 

On  that  magnificent  career,  my  young  friends, 
you  are  now  entering.  Science  is  opening  to 
you  all  her  stores  of  honour  and  of  usefulness, 
and  the  prayers  of  parents  and  of  friends  are 
following  you,  when  you  are  unconscious  of  them. 
— Pause  then,  I  beseech  you,  in  the  calm  morn- 
ing of  your  day,  and  form  to  yourselves  the  high 
resolutions  by  which  it  may  be  afterwards  dis- 
tinguished. Look  back  with  the  eye  of  memory 
to  the  past,  and  see  on  what  foundations  all  the 
lasting  honours  of  men  are  founded  ; — look  for- 
ward with  the  eye  of  faith  to  the  future ;  and, 
while  you  see  the  different  issues  of  moral  being, 
ask  yourselves  to  which  of  these  classes  of  exis- 
tence you  wish  to  belong.  But  first,  and  most  of 
all,  let  the  dawn  of  your  being  be  sanctified  by 
the  devotion  which  becomes  those  who  are  called, 
to  be  the  servants  of  God  ;  let  the  first  fruits  of 
your  understanding  be  offered  to  the  service  of 
Him  whose  inspiration  gave  it ;  and  while  you 
look  forward  to  the  final  issues  of  your  existence, 
let  it  never  cease  to  be  your  prayer,  that  you  may 
think  and  act  like  all  the  wise  and  good  that  have 
gone  before  you,  that  so  your  "  latter  end  may  be 
"  like  theirs." 


SERMON  XV. 

ON  THE  GENERAL  FAST,  FEBRUARY  9,  1809. 

St.  Matthew  xvi.  3. 
"  Can  ye  not  discern  the  signs  of  the  times  ?'* 

In  these  words,  our  Saviour  replied  to  the  na* 
tional  prejudices,  and  to  the  national  arrogance 
of  the  Jewish  people.  It  was  with  them  (even 
under  their  peculiar  dispensation)  as  it  is  with 
mankind  in  general.  They  valued  themselves  as 
being  the  favourite  people  of  Heaven  :  they  con- 
cpived  that  no  errours  or  vices  of  their  own  could 
ever  forfeit  the  covenant  made  with  their  fathers  : 
and  they  forgot,  amid  the  pursuits  of  temporary 
power,  all  the  promises  which  their  peculiar 
records  gave  of  a  spiritual  kingdom,  and  of  a 
moral  dominion. 

The  occasion  on  which  these  memorable  words 
were  spoken,  was  the  following  : — 

"  The  Pharisees  also,  with  the  Sadducees,  came, 
^^  and  tempting,  desired  him  that  he  would  shew 
"  them  a  sign  from  Heaven.     He  answered,  and 


ON  THE  GENERAL  FAST,  1809.  199 

^'  said  unto  them,  when  it  is  evening  ye  say,  it  will 
^'  be  fair  weather,  for  the  sky  is  red  ;  and,  in  the 
'^  morning,  it  will  be  foul  weather  to-day,  for  the 
"  sky  is  red  and  lowering.  O  ye  hypocrites  !  ye 
"  can  discern  the  face  of  the  sky,  but  can  ye  not 
"  discern  the  signs  of  the  times  ?'' 

In  these  words,  there  are  two  things  remarka- 
ble :— 

1.  The  first  is  the  assertion  that  there  are  signs 
of  the  times  :  that,  as  in  the  natural  world,  there 
are  signs  established  by  the  beneficence  of  Heaven, 
from  the  observation  of  which  tlie  business  of  life 
may  be  carried  on;  so  in  the  moral  world,  in  the 
conduct  of  individuals  and  of  nations,  there  are  also 
signs,  established  by  the  same  beneficence,  from 
which  the  thoughtful  mind  may  foretel  the  conse- 
quences that  must  follow,  and  from  the  observation 
of  which  it  may  regulate  its  future  conduct.  It  is 
upon  this  foresight,  upon  this  interpretation  of  the 
signs  that  individuals  or  nations  exhibit,  that  the 
wise  and  the  virtuous  of  every  age  can  act ;  by 
which  they  are  enabled  to  profit  by  the  experience 
of  others  :  by  which  they  are  taught  what  to  avoid, 
and  what  to  pursue  :  and  by  which  tliey  are  per- 
petually reminded,  that  there  is  in  nature  a  greater 
administration  than  that  of  men,  to  which  they 
ought  to  be  subject,  and  that  their  loftiest  wisdom 
consists  in  obeying  the  signs  which  that  adminis- 
trfttion  displays. 


200  ON  THE  GENERAL  FAST,  IBOa. 

S.  The  words  of  the  text  seem  to  convey  anothei' 
meaning,  a  meaning  of  reproach, — of  reproach  to 
the  people  of  that,  and  of  every  succeeding  genera- 
tion, for  tlieir  inattention  to  the  indications  of 
Heaven.  It  was  not  that  the  Pharisees  and  the 
Sadducees  of  that  unhappy  age  were  incapable  of 
discerning  tlie  signs  which  the  times  afforded  them ; 
it  was  that  they  would  not  discern  them.  They 
were  the  imrties  of  that  devoted  country ;  they 
were  rivals  in  power,  in  influence,  in  consequence  ; 
and  while  Heaven  threatened,  and  prophecy  fore- 
told, and  Rome  in  consequence  was  in  arms,  they 
closed  their  eyes  to  all  the  signs  of  Heaven  and  of 
earth ;  and,  under  the  hypocrisy  of  religion,  were 
ardent  only  for  the  low  and  momentary  ends  of 
vulgar  ambition. 

Whenever,  my  brethren,  a  nation  is  assembled 
before  the  Throne  of  God ; — whenever,  in  the 
midst  of  publick  danger  or  calamity,  the  command 
of  a  sovereign  unites  the  voices  of  his  people  in 
supplication  for  the  assistance  of  Heaven,  I  know 
not  that  there  is  any  subject  of  meditation  more  fit 
for  so  solemn  an  occasion,  than  that  which  is  sug- 
gested by  the  words  of  the  text. 

It  is  not  in  obeying  the  ritual  of  a  prescribed  de- 
votion,— it  is  not  in  merely  following  the  multitude 
into  the  house  of  God,  and  joining  in  words  which 
the  heart  neither  weighs  nor  feels, — that  the 
solemn  duty  of  days  like  the  present  can  be  per- 
formed.    It  is  in  raising  our  thoughts  to  the  ad- 


ON  THE  GENERAL  FAST,  1809.  -01 

ministration  of  the  universe  ; — in  contemplating 
the  laws  which  the  Almii^iity  has  given  to  the  social 
world ; — in  marking,  amid  the  calamities  of  na- 
tions, the  operations  of  His  justice,  and  His  wis- 
dom ;  and,  by  tijus  observing  the  signs  of  His  will, 
in  learning  the  path  of  our  duty.  From  the  dis- 
tractions and  the  miseries  of  the  world,  religion 
«alls  us  into  the  Temple  of  God  ;  and  the  voice  of 
our  Saviour  there  meets  us  to  say,  that,  amid  all 
the  desolations  around  us,  there  are  signs  of  the 
care  and  the  providence  of  Heaven,  and  that  they 
are  exhibited  for  our  instruction. 

If  ever  there  was  a  period  when  the  signs  of  the 
limes  were  solemn  and  portentous  to  mankind  in 
general,  and  to  the  inhabitants  of  this  country  ia 
particular,  it  is  doubtless  the  present.  We  are 
spectators  of  the  greatest  and  most  awful  events 
upon  which  the  eye  of  man  has  ever  gazed.  We 
have  been  witnessing  for  years  the  progress  of  that 
mighty  stream  of  conquest  and  of  desolation, 
whicii  has  been  spreading  over  the  fairest  portions 
of  the  civilized  world.  Year  after  year,  we  have 
seen  it  rolling  forw  ard  its  sanguinary  tide,  un- 
checked, and  unexhausted ;  and  burying  in  its 
progressive  w  ave,  the  riches  of  nature,  the  land- 
marks of  nations,  and  all  the  most  venerable  insti- 
tutions of  human  policy.  In  the  last  season  we 
have  seen  it  pause  indeed — but  pause  only  for  a 
moment ;  and,  while  our  hearts  were  throbbing 
w  ith  the  hopo  that  a  barrier  was  at  last  opposed  to 
26 


202  ON  THE  GENERAL  FAST,  1809. 

its  fury,  we  have  been  doomed  to  see  it  return  with 
accumulated  force ;  and  soon  (I  fear)  in  spite  of  all 
the  profusion  of  British  generosity, — in  spite  of  all 
the  energy  of  British  valour, — in  spite  of  the  sacri- 
fice of  the  noblest  blood  which  British  heroism  can 
shed, — to  see  it  overwhelm  that  country,  which  we 
have  in  vain  endeavoured  to  protect,  in  the  stream 
of  general  desolation.  Amid  the  wreck  of  the  na- 
tions of  Europe,  this  country  stands  now  insulated 
and  alone.  But  we  see  tlie  torrent  gathering 
around  us  ; — and  it  is  fit  that,  on  such  solemnities 
as  this,  we  should  raise  our  eyes  to  Heaven,  and 
implore  the  direction  and  tlie  assistance  of  Hin> 
who  alone  can  say,  '^  hitherto  shalt  thou  come, 
^^  and  no  farther ;"  and  who  yet  may  make  us  the 
instruments  of  his  power,  "  in  stilling  the  noise  of 
^*  the  waves,  and  the  madness  of  the  people.*' 

It  were  to  be  ignorant  or  inattentive  to  the  signs 
which  the  times  present  to  us,  to  say  that  they 
were  the  consequences  of  military  prowess,  and 
military  numbers  alone.  The  world,  in  its  histo- 
ry, has  seen  many  conquerors,  but  it  has  seen 
them,  too,  checked  in  their  career,  and  driven  back 
into  the  regions  which  nursed  them.  There  is 
hardly  a  nation  upon  earth,  which  has  not  (at  least 
in  the  annals  of  its  earlier  story)  its  tale  to  tell,  of 
national  prowess  and  independence ; — whicii  has 
not  to  number  the  hosts  that  were  brought  in  array 
against  it ;  and  which  does  not  point,  witli  exulta- 
tion, to  that  illustrious  page  of  its  history,  which 


ON  THE  GENERAL  FAST,  1809.  203 

rontains  the  narrative  of  their  defeat  and  disgrace. 
There  is,  in  truth,  so  deep  and  so  active  a  love  of 
country  in  the  bosom  of  mankind  ; — there  are  so 
many  cords  of  affection  by  which  it  is  wound 
round  tlie  heart  of  man  ; — there  is  so  much  energy 
in  freedom,  so  much  elevation  in  publick  virtue, 
and,  even  at  the  last,  so  much  fortitude  in  despair, 
that  we  may  take  for  granted,  whenever  nations 
fall  prostrate  before  the  sword  of  an  invader,  that 
the  origin  of  their  fall  is  not  so  much  in  external 
violence,  as  in  internal  decay ; — and  that  there 
must  have  been  some  previous  and  overpowering 
causes  in  the  nature  of  government  itself,  which 
alone  could  reconcile  the  hearts  of  men  to  the 
wretchedness  of  ignominy  and  submission. 

What  have  been  the  civil  or  political  causes 
which  have  led  to  the  general  ruin  in  which  we  see 
all  the  nations  of  Europe  involved  ; — what  were 
the  seeds  which  have  been  sown,  and  which  have 
now  sprung  up  into  legions  of  armed  men,  it  is  the 
business  of  the  historian  and  the  philosopher  to  in- 
vestigate. It  is  the  duty  of  this  place,  my  brethren, 
it  is  the  duty  of  all  of  us  in  days  like  the  pre- 
Sfintj  to  direct  our  attention  to  a  greater  inquiry. 
It  is  our  duty  to  look  to  the  moral  causes  which 
liave  been  operating ;  to  discern  the  national  sins, 
which  are  now  visited  ])y'so  much  national  suffer- 
ing ;  and,  when  we  sec  the  mighty  tragedy  con- 
cluded, to  learn  the  moral  which  it  is  destined  to 
couvt'v  to  us^  and  to  every  future  people, 


a04  ON  THE  GENERAL  FAST,  1809. 

In  such  an  inquiiy,  1  fear,  we  shall  be  at  no 
loss  in  discerning  the  signs  of  the  evils  that  have 
arrived  :  nor  is  there  any  one  of  us,  perhaps,  so 
regardless  of  tlie  times  in  which  we  have  lived, 
as  not  to  have  felt  some  prophetiek  fears  of  what 
was  coming  upon  the  earth. 

We  shall  discern  them,  in  the  first  place,  in  the 
corruptions  of  religion ;  in  the  sins  of  that  proud 
but  servile  hierarchy,  which  poisoned,  at  its 
source,  the  spring  of  more  than  mortal  life ; — 
which  cherished  superstition  only  that  it  might 
ensure  obedience  ; — and  which  bound  the  noblest 
faculties  of  the  human  soul  in  chains,  that  it 
might  make  them  the  instruments  of  its  own  tem- 
poral and  impious  power. 

We  shall  discern  them,  in  the  second  place,  in 
the  sins  of  statesmen  ;  in  those  maxims  of  political 
conduct  which  sacrificed  justice  to  experience ; 
which  gave  to  cunning  and  deceit  the  names  of 
wisdom  and  of  policy ;  and  which  never  hesitated 
to  waste  the  blood  and  the  treasures  of  nations, 
to  gratify  either  the  livalship  of  kings,  or  the  am- 
bition of  (heir  ministers. 

We  shall  iind  them,  in  tlie  third  place,  in  the 
injustice  of  internal  government;  in  the  exclusion 
of  the  great  body  of  the  people  from  all  sliare  in  the 
administration  of  (heir  country  ; — in  the  haughty 
meglect  of  their  rights,  their  interests,  and  their 
feelings; — and  in  the  subjugation  of  the  whole 
social  system  to  the  will  of  certain  individuals,  or 
certain  hereditary  orders  of  men. 


ON  THE  GENERAL  FAST,  1809.  20.') 

We  shall  find  them,  in  anotlier  view,  in  every 
poimtry  we  contemplate,  in  the  personal  vices  of 
the  great  and  the  powerful ;  in  that  licentiousnesy 
of  manners,  which  never  fsiils  to  be  the  conse- 
quence  of  superiority  to  laws  and  to  publick  opin- 
ion ; — which  oilends  the  minds  of  men,  at  tl»e 
same  time  that  it  corrupts  them  ; — and  wliich,  by 
a  fatal  contagion,  reaches  not  only  into  tlie  busi- 
ness, but  into  the  bosoms  of  all  who  are  below 
them. 

We  shall  find  them,  in  the  last  place,  in  the 
guilt  of  genius  and  of  talents  ;  in  that  base  prosti- 
tution, by  which  they  who  were  destined  by  Hea- 
ven to  be  the  instructers  of  mankind,  have  lent 
themselves  either  to  be  the  slaves  of  power,  the 
panders  of  courtly  vice,  or  the  apostles  of  sedition  ; 
and,  for  the  sake  of  a  guilty  celebrity,  have  trem- 
bled not  at  dissolving,  at  one  time,  all  the  ties  of 
private  virtue,  and,  at  another,  all  the  obligations 
of  social  duty. 

Such  have  been  the  signs  of  the  times  in  whicli 
we  have  lived  ;  the  signs,  in  some  degree  or  other, 
in  every  country  of  the  continent,  of  those  coming 
calamities  which  we  are  now  doomed  to  l)ehold  ; 
and  wliich,  thougli  they  were  derided  by  the 
Pharisees  and  the  Sadducees  of  their  day,  were 
significant  to  every  religious  and  every  thoughtful 
mind,  of  the  dissolution  of  the  nations  wliich  pre- 
sented them.  They  signified,  tliat  whenever  vice, 
and  inju«;ii'.*o,  and  oppr^i-sion  leign,  the  period  of 


206  ON  THE  GEXRAL  FAST,  1809. 

society  has  arrived: — they  signified,  that  Heavea 
visits  the  sins  of  those  who  govern  mankind,  by 
alienating  tiie  hearts  of  the  governed ; — and  that, 
whatever  may  be  the  instinctive  love  of  country, 
there  is  a  limit  of  duty,  beyond  which  the  heart  of 
the  citizen  is  cold,  and  his  hand  is  feeble  : — they 
signified,  that  when  once  the  vital  principle  of  soci- 
ety is  gone,  its  natural  termination  is  approaching  ; 
— and  that,  although  it  may  retain  the  form  and 
semblance  of  strength,  it  is  yet  destined  to  dissolve 
at  the  fii*st  touch  of  the  steel  of  the  invader. 

— "^  When  thy  judgments  are  in  the  earth,"  saith 
the  prophet,   "  the  inhabitants  of  the  world  will 
'^  learn  righteousness.'' — It  is  in  these  words,  my 
brethren,  that  the  great  moral  of  the  tragedy  of 
nations  is  to  be  found.     It  is  in  them  we  are  re- 
minded, tliat  there  is  a  throne  of  justice  in  nature  ; 
— tliat  tliere  are  laws  of  righteousness  prescribed 
to  nations  as  well  as  to  individuals  ; — that  when- 
ever the  happiness  of  the  whole  is  sacrificed  to  the 
power  or  the  interests  of  the  few,  the  seeds  of  dis- 
solution are  sown  ; — that  the  means  by  which  the 
Almighty  visits  the  sins  of  society,  is  not  by  the 
visitation  of  the  earthquake  or  the  pestilence,  but 
by  the  silent  operation  of  the  principles  of  human 
nature  itself; — and  that  the  same  instincts  which 
first  assemble  men  into  society,  are  destined  to  se- 
parate them  again,  whenever  the  ends  of  society 
are  not  falfiUcd. 


ON  THE  GENERAL  FAST,  1809.  20i 

It  is  upon  this  awful  and  proplietick  spectacle, 
that  you,  ray  brethreuj  and  tlie  people  of  this  coun- 
try, now  look.  Years  have  been  passing,  and  in 
every  one  of  them  you  have  seen  the  same  signs 
accomplished.  AV^liat  impression  it  is  to  make 
upon  your  minds,  I  presume  not  to  say;  I  will  re- 
peat only  the  awful  words  of  the  Saviour  of  the 
world,  that  these  arc  the  signs  of  the  Providence 
of  Heaven,  and  that  they  arc  given  that  ye  may 
discern  them. 

Were  it  the  inhabitantsof  any  other  country  whom 
it  was  now  my  duty  to  address,  I  know  not  that  I 
could  add  to  these  words  any  accents  of  political 
comfort :  But  in  this  country,  I  thank  God  that 
I  can,  and  that  I  ought  to  add  words,  not  only  of 
comfort,  but  of  animation.  I  dare  not  say,  indeed, 
that  we  partake  not  in  the  infirmity  or  in  the  guilt 
of  human  nature.  I  dare  not  say,  that  there  is 
no  where  injustice  in  our  rule,  nor  oppression  in 
our  government.  I  dare  not  say,  that,  in  looking 
at  the  annals  of  our  day,  the  eye  of  science  will 
find  every  thing  wise,  or  the  eye  of  piety  find 
every  thing  virtuous.  But  in  the  great  and  gl- 
gantick  sins  of  other  nations,  I  do  trust  I  may 
say  that  we  have  little  participation.  I  trust  that 
there  is  among  us  a  living  spirit  of  religion,  of 
patriotism,  and  of  private  virtue.  I  trust,  that 
the  peculiar  blessings  w  ith  which  Providence  has 
visited  us  ;  that  that  reformation  which  purified 
our  religion,  and  that  revolution  which  fixed  ouf 


208  ON  THE  GENERAL  FAST,  1809. 

constitution,  have  given  to  the  people  of  this  land 
a  corresponding  character  of  religious  principle, 
and  of  civil  energy,  which  neither  prosperity  can 
corrupt,  nor  adversity  suhdue.  I  trust,  that  the 
breath  of  freedom,  which  the  lowest  among  us  in- 
hales with  his  birth,  while  it  has  poured  prosperity 
througli  every  vein  and  artery  of  the  state,  has 
poured  along  with  it  the  spirit  of  loyalty,  the  vigour 
of  patriotism,  and  tiie  energy  of  independence. 
Amid  the  waves  of  the  ocean,  I  trust  we  shall  still 
present  to  mankind  tlie  beacon  which  may  enlighten 
and  direct  them  :  and  that,  among  the  millions  of 
our  population,  there  is  not  one  heart  so  base,  or 
one  arm  so  coward,  as  to  shrink  from  sacrificing 
life  itself,  in  defence  of  the  majestick  fabrick  of  our 
laws,  and  the  grey  hairs  of  our  anointed  Sovereign. 
Yet, — whatever  may  be  our  hopes,  and  whatever 
may  be  our  prayers,  let  it  never  be  forgotten  what 
are  our  dangers.  They  are  not  the  dangers  of  a 
day,  or  of  a  season.  The  clouds  which  so  long 
have  hung  around  us,  seem  now  to  be  gathering  into 
the  final  storm.  From  one  end  almost  of  Europe 
to  the  other,  we  see  the  various  nations  which  in- 
habit it  marshalled  against  us.  We  see  their  min- 
gled forces  wielded  by  that  powerful  arm  which 
victory  has  strung  with  new  vigour ;  and  their 
march  directed  by  that  penetrating  eye,  which 
marks,  with  cool  decision,  wherever  nature,  or 
policy,  or  vice,  has  made  us  vulnerable,  and  which 
permits  no  slumber  of  peace  to  quench  its  malignant 
ambition. 


ON  THE  GENERAL  FAST,  1809.  209 

If  such  be  the  sijijus  of  the  times,  they  are  to  us 
the  summons  to  duty.     Amid  the  sunshine  of  pros- 
perity,  there  is  a  cliaracter  of  national  gayety  and 
levity,  which  suits,  in  some  degree,  with  the  cha- 
racter of  the  times,  and  which  may  be  forgiven  at 
least,  if  it  is  not  approved.     But  tlic  liours  of  dan- 
i^er  demand  another  character  ;  and  the  voice  of 
Heaven  calls  then  for  loftier  purposes,  and  sublimer 
energies.   In  such  hours,  it  calls  upon  vice  to  pause, 
and  folly  to  think,  and  party  to  be  silent.     It  calls 
upon  the  citizen  of  every  rank  to  prepare  his  mind 
for  the  scenes  that  may  follow  ;  to  remember  what 
are  the  blessings  which  are  included  in  the  name 
of  his  country  ;  and  to  supplicate  from  Heaven  that 
strength  which  may  enable  him,  in  its  hour  of  peril, 
to  defend  and  to  save  it.     It  calls  upon  the  great 
and  the  affluent  to  lay  their  wealth  at  the  feet  of 
their  country  ;  to  vindicate  their  distinction,  by  the 
distinction  of  their  patriotism  ;  and  to  scorn  every 
calculation  of  private  interest,  when  the  interest  of 
their  native  land  is  in  danger.     It  calls  upon  the 
poor  man  to  harden  his  mind  against  the  conflict 
in  which  he  must  act  or  suffer ;  to  brave  those 
additions  to  penury,  which  the  struggle  for  national 
existence  must  produce  ;  and  to  prepare  himself, 
in  the  last  rank,  to  defend  the  humble   cottage, 
which  is  yet  the  abode  of  liberty  and  of  religion. 

But  chiefly  you,  my  young  friends  !  It  is  you, 
chiefly,  whom  the  voice  of  religion  now  summons 
to  duty.    You  are  entering  upon  the  stage  of  time ! 


210  ON  THE  GENERAL  FAST,  1809. 

and  upon  that  stage  great  interests  are  depending, 
and  great  events  are  to  be  transacted.  In  your 
day,  the  fate  of  your  country  will,  to  all  humau 
appearance,  be  determined  :  and  whether  it  is  to 
exist  (,r  to  fall,  will  depend  upon  the  wisdom  of 
your  councils,  and  the  vigour  of  your  arms.  It  is 
a  time,  therefore,  for  you  to  encourage  in  your  bo- 
soms all  the  native  generosity  of  youth  ;  to  scorn 
every  vice  that  can  debase,  and  every  folly  that 
can  enervate  ;  to  train  your  minds  for  scenes  of  firm 
enterprise  and  high  achievement ;  to  clothe  your- 
selves in  the  armour  of  that  faith  in  which  you 
were  baptized  ;  and,  with  the  lofty  devotion  of 
freemen,  to  swear  to  Heaven  and  to  mankind, 
never  to  surrender  to  a  tyrant  the  inheritance  you 
have  received  from  your  fathers. 

Do  you  want  motives,  my  brethren,  to  animate 
you  to  duty  ?  They  are  around  you, — they  are  in 
every  scene  of  that  country,  which  is  now  "  like 
^^  the  garden  of  Eden  before  you,"  and  which  the 
sword  of  a  conqueror  would  convert  into  a  "  deso- 
•^  late  wilderness."  The  names  you  bear  are  the 
names  of  patriots  and  of  heroes  ;  the  ground  on 
which  you  tread  has  been  often  wet  with  the  blood 
of  the  invader ;  the  mountains  of  your  country  rise 
around  you,  to  remind  you  that  on  their  summits 
no  hostile  banner  was  ever  reared  ;  and  that  from 
them  the  eye  of  your  ancestors  saw  the  tide  even 
of  Uoman  invasion  roll  back. 


ON  THE  GENERAL  FAST,  1809.  21 1 

Do  you  want  examples,  my  young  friends  !  to 
direct  your  patriotism  ?  Go  not  to  the  records  of 
other  countries  or  of  other  climes.  Go  to  the  an- 
nals of  your  own  country;  to  the  examples  which 
every  page  of  them  presents  to  you,  and  which 
teach  you  how  the  patriot  can  live,  and  how  the 
freeman  can  die. — Go  to  that  recent  page  w  hich  is 
yet  wet  with  your  tears  ;  to  the  example  of  that  il- 
lustrious man,-*  whose  uncqffined  remains  repose, 
alas,  far  from  the  sepulchre  of  his  fathers  ;  but 
whose  ascending  Spirit  now  lets  fall  the  mantle  of 
its  glory,  to  cover  the  land  which  gave  him  hirth  ; 
and  who  has  left  to  mankind  a  name  at  the  sound 
of  which,  in  every  succeeding  age,  the  heart  of  the 
patriot  will  tlirob, — when  tyrants  shall  have  ceased 
to  reign,  and  when  the  world  shall  have  awakened 
to  truth,  to  victory,  and  to  freedom. 

^'  Sir  John  Moorf-. 


SERMON  XVI. 


ON  AUTUMN. 


Genesis  xxiv.  63. 
"And  Isaac  went  out  to  meditate  in  the  field,  at  the  even-tide," 

However  much  the  necessities  and  the  duties 
of  life  call  upon  us  for  activity,  there  are  other 
principles  of  our  being  which  lead  us  to  meditation. 
The  same  divine  inspiration  which  hath  given  us 
understanding,  hath  provided  also  the  scenes  in 
which  it  ought  to  be  employed ;  and  the  perfection 
of  our  nature  consists,  not  in  the  separation,  but  in 
the  union  of  contemplation  and  of  action.  "  To 
'^  every  thing,"  »ays  the  wise  man,  "  there  is  a 
^^  season  ;"  and,  if  there  are  times  when  the  Day- 
spring  summons  us  to  activity, — there  are  times 
also,  when,  like  the  patriarch  in  the  text,  we  are 
invited  to  "  meditate  in  the  field,  at  the  even-tide." 

In  the  generality  of  men,  however,  there  is  some 
secret  unwillingness  to  be  employed  in  the  labour 
of  meditation ; — there  is  a  kind  of  gloom  that  is 


ON  AUTUMN.  -^13 

very  early  associated  with  it  in  the  minds  of  the 
young ;  and  when  inanliood  arrives,  the  prospe- 
rous are  too  gay,  and  the  active  too  busy,  to  listen 
to  the  voice  that  suggests  it.  It  is  thus,  that,  even 
in  good  minds,  some  of  the  most  beneficial  propen- 
sities of  their  nature  are  insensibly  obliterated  ; — 
that  all  the  inviting  and  propitious  seasons  of 
thought  and  of  solitude  are  neglected  ; — and  that 
their  attention  turns  unconsciously  from  the  very 
scenes  where  the  benevolence  of  nature  has  provi- 
ded for  them  the  amplest  sources  of  tranquillity 
and  of  repose. 

I  wish,  at  present,  to  present  some  views  in 
opposition  to  this  [jrevailing  weakness  ; — to  shew 
you,  that  if  there  are  seasons  when  the  inspiration 
of  the  Almighty  calls  us  to  meditation,  it  is  to 
lead  us  to  wisdom  and  to  happiness  ; — that  there 
is  an  established  train  of  thought,  which  such 
seasons  necessarily  awaken  ; — and  that  in  the 
even-tide,  as  well  as  in  the  sunshine  of  life,  the 
same  great  ends  are  pursued,  by  which  He  that 
made  us  wisheth  that  we  should  not  only  be  wise 
here,  but  become  wise  unto  salvation. 

1.  I'here  is  an  even-tide  in  the  day, — an  hour 
when  the  sun  retires,  and  the  shadows  fall,  and 
when  nature  assumes  the  appearances  of  soberness 
and  silence.  It  is  an  hour  from  which  every 
w  here  the  thoughtless  fly,  as  peopled  only  in  their 
imagination  with  images  of  gloom  ; — it  is  the  hour^ 
on  the  othei'  hand,  which,  in  every  age,  the  wise 


214  ON  AUTUMN. 

have  loved,  as  bringing  with  it  sentiments  and 
affections  more  valuable  than  all  the  splendours 
of  the  day. 

Its  first  impression  is  to  still  all  the  turbulence 
of  thought   or  passion   which  the  day  may  have 
brought  forth.     We  follow,  with  our  eye,  the  de- 
scending sun, — we  listen  to  the  decaying  sounds 
of  labour  and  of  toil, — and,  when  all  the  fields 
are  silent  around  us,  we  feel  a  kindred  stillness 
to  breathe  upon  our  souls,  and  to  calm  them  from 
the  agitations  of  society.     From  this  first  impres- 
sion, there  is  a  second  which  naturally  follows 
it; — in  the  day  we  are  living  with  men, — in  the 
even-tide  we  begin  to  live  with  nature  ; — we  see 
the   world    withdrawn  from  us, — the   shades  of 
night  darken  over  the  habitations  of  men,  and  we 
feel  ourselves  alone.     It  is  an  hour,  fitted,  as  it 
would  seem,  by  Him  who  made  us,  to  still,  but 
with  gentle  hand,  the  throb  of  every  unruly  pas- 
sion, and  the  ardour  of  every  impure  desire  ;  and, 
while  it  veils  for  a  time  the  world  that  misleads 
us,  to  awaken  in  our   hearts  those  legitimate  af- 
fections which  the  heat  of  the  day  may  have  dis- 
solved.     There  is  yet  a  farther  scene  it  presents 
to  us  : — While  the  world  withdraws  from  us,  and 
while  the  shades  of  the  evening  darken  upon  our 
dwellings,  the  splendours  of  the  firmament  come 
forward  to  our  view.    In  the  moments  when  earth 
is  overshadowed.  Heaven  opens  to  our  eyes  the 
radiance  of  a  sublimer  being  ;  our  hearts  follow 


ON  AUTUMN.  '215 

the  successive  splendours  of  the  scene  ;  and  while 
we  forget,  for  a  time,  the  obscurity  of  earthly  con- 
cerns, we  feci  that  there  are  "  yet  greater  things 
"  than  these/'  and  that  we  "  have  a  Father  wlio 
^^  dwelleth  in  the  heavens,  and  who  yet  deigneth 
"  to  consider  the  things  that  are  upon  eartli." 

Such  is  the  train  of  thought  which  the  even- 
tide of  the  day  is  iitted  to  excite  ; — thoughts  seri- 
ous, doubtless,  but  inviting ; — which  lead  us  daily, 
as  it  were,  to  the  noblest  conceptions  of  our  beiug ; 
— ^and  which  seem  destined  to  return  us  to  the 
world  with  understandings  elevated,  and  with 
hearts  made  better. 

2.  There  is,  in  the  second  place,  an  "  even- 
*^  tide"  in  the  year, — a  season,  as  we  now  witness, 
when  the  sun  withdraws  his  propitious  light, — 
when  the  winds  arise,  and  the  leaves  fall,  and 
nature  around  us  seems  to  sink  into  decay.  It  is 
said,  in  general,  to  be  the  season  of  melancholy ; 
and  if,  by  this  word,  be  meant  that  it  is  the  time 
of  solemn  and  of  serious  thought,  it  is  undoubtedly 
the  season  of  melancholy ; — yet,  it  is  a  melan- 
choly so  soothing,  so  gentle  in  its  approach,  and 
so  prophetick  in  its  influence,  that  they  who  have 
known  it  feel,  as  instinctively,  that  it  is  the  doing 
of  God,  and  that  the  heart  of  man  is  not  thus 
finely  touched,  but  to  fine  issues. 

1.  It  is  a  season,  in  the  first  place,  which  tends 
to  wean  us  from  the  passions  of  the  world.  Every 


216  ON  AUTUMN. 

passion,  however  base  or  unworthy^  is  yet  elo- 
quent.  It  speaks  to  us  of  present  enjoyment ; — 
it  tells  us  of  what  men  have  done  and  what  men 
may  do,  and  it  supports  us  every  where  by  the 
example  of  many  around  us.  When  we  go  out 
into  the  fields  in  the  evening  of  tlie  year,  a  diffe- 
rent voice  approaches  us.  We  regard,  even  in  spite 
of  ourselves,  the  still  but  steady  advances  of  time. 
A  few  days  ago,  and  the  summer  of  the  year  was 
grateful,  and  every  element  was  filled  with  life, 
and  the  sun  of  Heaven  seemed  to  glory  in  his 
ascendant.  He  is  now  enfeebled  in  his  power  j 
the  desert  no  more  ^^  blossoms  like  the  rose  ;" 
the  song  of  joy  is  no  more  heard  among  the 
branches ;  and  the  earth  is  strewed  with  that  foli- 
age which  once  bespoke  the  magnificence  of  sum- 
mer. Whatever  may  be  the  passions  which  soci- 
ety lias  awakened,  we  pause  amid  this  apparent 
desolation  of  nature.  We  sit  down  in  the  lodge 
"  of  the  way-faring  man  in  tlie  wilderness,"  and 
we  feel  that  all  we  witness  is  the  emblem  of  our 
own  fate.  Such  also,  in  a  few  years,  will  be  our 
own  condition.  The  blossoms  of  our  spring, — the 
pride  of  our  summer  will  also  fade  into  decay ; — 
and  the  pulse  that  now  beats  high  with  virtuous 
or  with  vicious  desire,  will  gradually  sink,  and 
then  must  stop  for  ever.  We  rise  from  our  medi- 
tations with  hearts  softened  and  subdued,  and  we 
return  into  life  as  into  a  shadowy  scene,  where 
we  have  "disquieted  ourselves  in  vajn,"    Such 


ON  AUTUMN.  21?" 

is  the  first  impression  which  the  present  scene  of 
nature  is  fitted  to  make  upon  us.  It  is  this  first 
impression  which  intimidates  the  thoughtless  and 
the  gay ;  and,  indeed,  if  there  were  no  other 
reflections  that  followed,  I  know  not  that  it  would 
be  the  business  of  wisdom  to  recommend  such 
meditations.  It  is  the  consequences,  however, 
of  such  previous  thoughts,  which  are  chiefly  valua- 
ble ;  and  among  these  tliere  are  two  which  may 
well  deserve  our  consideration. 

2.  It  is  the  peculiar  character  of  the  melan- 
choly which  sucli  seasons  excite,  that  it  is  general. 
It  is  not  an  individual  remonstrance  ; — it  is  not 
the  harsh  language  of  human  wisdom,  which  too 
often  insults,  while  it  instructs  us.  When  the 
winds  of  autumn  sigh  around  us,  their  voice 
speaks  not  to  us  only,  but  to  our  kind ;  and  the 
lesson  they  teach  us  is  not  that  we  alone  decay, 
but  that  such  also  is  the  fate  of  all  the  generations 
of  man. — ^'They  are  the  green  leaves  of  the  tree 
*'  of  the  desert,  which  perish  and  are  renewed." 
In  such  a  sentiment  there  is  a  kind  of  sublimity 
mingled  with  its  melancholy  ; — our  tears  fall,  but 
they  fall  not  for  ourselves ; — and,  although  the 
train  of  our  thoughts  may  have  begun  with  the 
selfishness  of  our  own  concerns,  we  feel  that,  by 
the  ministry  of  some  mysterious  power,  they  end 
in  awakening  our  concern  for  every  being  that 
lives. — Yet  a  few  years,  we  think,  and  ail  that 

now  bless,  or  all  that  now  convulse  liumanity 

S8 


218  ON  AUTUMN. 

will  also  have  perished.  The  mightiest  pageaii> 
try  of  life  will  pass, — the  loudest  notes  of  triumph 
or  of  conquest  will  be  silent  in  the  grave ; — 
the  wicked,  wherever  active,  <^will  cease  from 
« troubling,"  and  the  weary,  wherever  suffering, 
^'  will  be  at  rest."  Under  an  impression  so 
profound,  we  feel  our  own  hearts  better.  The 
cares,  the  animosities,  the  hatreds  which  society 
may  have  engendered,  sink  unperceived  from  our 
bosoms.  In  the  general  desolation  of  nature, 
we  feel  the  littleness  of  our  own  passions  ; — we 
look  forward  to  that  kindred  evening  which  time 
must  bring  to  all ; — we  anticipate  the  graves  of 
those  we  hate,  as  of  those  we  love.  Every  un- 
kind passion  falls,  with  the  leaves  that  fall  around 
US  ;  and  we  return  slowly  to  our  homes,  and  to 
the  society  which  surrounds  us,  with  the  wish 
only  to  enlighten  or  to  bless  them. 

3.  If  there  were  no  other  effects,  my  brethren, 
of  such  appearances  of  nature  upon  our  minds, 
they  would  still  be  valuable, — they  would  teach 
us  humility, — and  with  it  they  would  teach  us 
charity.  In  the  same  hour  in  which  they  taught 
us  our  own  fragility,  they  would  teach  us  com- 
miseration for  the  whole  family  of  man. — But 
there  is  a  farther  sentiment  which  such  scenes 
inspire,  more  valuable  than  all  ;  and  we  know 
little  the  designs  of  Providence,  when  we  do  not 
yield  ourselves  in  such  hours  to  the  beneficent 
inetincte  of  our  Imagination. 


ON  AUTUMN.  219 

It  is  the  unvarying  character  of  nature,  amid 
all  its  scenes,  to  lead  us  at  last  to  its  author ;  and 
it  is  for  this  final  end  that  all  its  varieties  have 
such  dominion  upon  our  minds.     We  are  led  hy 
the  appearances  of  spring  to  see  His  bounty  ; — 
we  are  led  by  the  splendours  of  summer  to  see 
His  greatness.     In  the  present  hours,  we  are  led 
to  a  higher  sentiment ;  and,  what  is  most  remarka- 
ble, the  very  circumstances  of  melancholy  are 
these  which  guide  us  most  securely  to  put  our 
trust  in  Him.     We  are  witnessing  the  decay  of 
the  year  ; — we  go  back  in  imagination,  and  find 
that  such  in  every  generation  has  been  the  fate 
of  man ; — we  look  forward,  and  we  see  that  to 
such  ends  all  must  come  at   last ; — we  lift  our 
desponding  eyes  in  search  of  comfort,  and   we 
see  above  us,  One,  ^^  who  is  ever  the  same,  and 
"to  whose  vears  there  is  no  end."     Amid  the 
vicissitudes  of  nature,   we  discover  that  central 
majesty  "  in  whom  there  is  no  variableness  nor 
'^  shadow  of  turning.'^     We  feel  that  there  is  a 
God  ;  and,  from  the  tempestuous  sea  of  life,  we 
hail  that  polar  star  of  nature,  to  which  a  sacred 
instinct  had   directed  our  eyes,  and  which  burns 
with  undecaying  ray  to  lighten  us  among  all  the 
darkness  of  the  deep. 

From  this  great  conviction,  there  is  another 
sentiment  which  succeeds.  Nature,  indeed,  year- 
ly perishes  ;  but  it  is  yearly  renewed.  Amid  all 
its  changes,  the  immortal  spirit  of  Him  that  made 
it  remaius  ;  and  the  same  sun  which  now  marks 


220  ON  AUTUMN. 

with  his  receding  ray  the  autumn  of  the  year,  will 
again  arise  in  his  brightness,  and  bring  along  with 
him  the  promise  of  the  spring  and  all  the  magnifi- 
cence of  summer.  Under  such  convictions,  hope 
dawns  upon  the  sadness  of  the  lieart.  The 
melancholy  of  decay  becomes  the  very  herald  of 
renewal  ; — the  magnificent  circle  of  nature  opens 
upon  our  view  ; — we  anticipate  the  analogous  re- 
surrection of  our  being ; — we  see  beyond  the  grave 
a  greater  spring,  and  we  people  it  with  those  who 
have  given  joy  to  that  which  is  passed.  With 
such  final  impressions,  we  submit  ourselves  gladly 
to  the  destiny  of  our  being.  While  the  sun  of 
mortality  sinks,  we  hail  the  rising  of  the  Sun  of 
Kighteousness,  and,  in  the  hours  that  all  the  hon- 
ours of  nature  are  perishing  around  us,  we  pros- 
trate ourselves  in  deeper  adoration  before  Him 
who  '^  sitteth  upon  its  throne.'^ 

Such,  my  brethren,  are  the  sentiments  to  which 
the  scenes  of  nature  we  now  witness  insensibly 
lead  us,  aud  such  the  final  conclusion  of  that  train 
of  thought  which  they  naturally  occasion  ; — senti- 
ments solemn  indeed,  (as  I  have  said)  but  sublime, 
which  remove  us  for  a  time  from  life,  only  to  make 
us  anticipate  something  greater  ; — -and  which  lead 
us,  as  if  by  some  mysterious  charm,  from  the  bo- 
som of  melancholy,  to  the  highest  hopes  and  con- 
solations of  our  being.  If,  then,  '^^  day  unto  day 
^^uttereth  speech,  and  year  unto  year  teacheth 
^^  knowledge,"  let  not  the  follies  or  the  gayeties  of 
life  withdraw  us  from  these  kind  and  salutary  ad- 


ON  AUTUMN.  221 

luotiitions.  Whatever  may  be  our  age  or  condi- 
tion, nature,  in  tliesc  hours,  has  its  lessons  to  us 
all ; — lessons  which  all  may  read,  and  all  can 
feel  ; — and  which  come  to  us  with  that  gentle  and 
unreproaching  voice,  which  delights  while  it  in- 
structs us,  and  which  marks  the  fine  education  of 
Him  who  is  the  Father  of  our  spirits. 

Let  then  tlie  young  go  out,  in  these  hours,  un- 
der the  descending  sun  of  the  year,  into  the  fields 
of  nature.  Their  hearts  are  now  ardent  with 
hope, — with  the  hopes  of  fame,  of  honour,  or  of 
happiness  ;  and  in  the  long  perspective  which  is 
before  them,  their  imagination  creates  a  world 
where  all  may  be  enjoyed.  Let  the  scenes  which 
they  now  may  witness,  moderate,  but  not  extin- 
guish their  ambition  : — while  they  see  the  yearly 
desolation  of  nature,  let  them  see  it  as  the  emblem 
of  mortal  hope  ; — while  they  feel  the  disproportion 
between  the  powers  they  possess,  and  the  time  they 
are  to  be  employed,  let  them  carry  their  ambitious 
eye  beyond  the  world ; — and  while,  in  these  sa- 
cred solitudes,  a  voice  in  their  own  bosom  corres- 
ponds to  the  voice  of  decaying  nature,  let  them 
take  that  high  decision  which  becomes  those  who 
feel  themselves  the  inhabitants  of  a  greater  world, 
and  who  look  to  a  being  incapable  of  decay. 

Let  the  busy  and  the  active  go  out,  and  pause 
for  a  time  amid  the  scenes  which  surround  them, 
and  learn  the  high  lesson  which  nature  teaches  in 
the  hours  of  its  fall.  They  are  now  ardent  with 
all  the  desires  of  mortality  ; — and  fame,  and  inter- 


222  ON  AUTUMN. 

est,  and   pleasure,  are  displaying  to  them  their 

shadowy  promises  ; — and,  in   the  vulgar  race  of 

life,  many  weak  and  many  worthless  passions  are 

too   naturally  engendered.     Let   them   withdraw 

themselves  for  a  time  from  the  agitations  of  the 

world  ; — let  them  mark  the  desolation  of  summer, 

and  listen  to  the  winds  of  winter,  which  begin  to 

murmur  above  their  heads.     It  is  a  scene  which, 

with  all   its  power,  has  yet  no  reproach  ; — it  tells 

them,  that  such  is  also  the  fate  to  which  they  must 

come ; — that   the  pulse  of  passion  must  one  day 

beat  low  ; — that  the  illusions  of  time  must  pass  ; — 

and  ^^  that  the  spirit  must  return  to  Him  who  gave 

'^  it."     It  reminds  them,  with  gentle  voice,  of  that 

innocence  in  which  life  was  begun,  and  for  which 

no  prosperity  of  vice  can  make  any  compensation ; 

— and  that  angel  who  is  one  day  to  stand  upon 

the  earth,  and  to  '"■  swear  that  time  shall  be   no 

'^  more,"  seems  now  to  whisper  to  them,  amid  the 

hollow  winds  of  the  year,  what   manner   of  men 

ought  they  to  be,  who  must  meet  that  decisive  hour. 

There  is  yet  another  description  among  those 

who  hear  me  ; — there  is  an  even-tide  in  hnman  life, 

a  season   when  the  eye   becomes  dim,  and  the 

strength  decays,  and  when  the  winter  of  age  begins 

to  shed  upon  the  human  head  its  prophetick  snow. 

It  is  the  season  of  life  to  which  the  present  is  most 

analogous ;  and  much   it   becomes,  and  much  it 

would  profit  you,  my  elder  brethren,  to  mark  the 

instructions  which  the  season  brings.     The  spring 

and  the  summer  of  your  days  are  gone;  juid  with 


ON  AUTUMN.  *^23 

them,  not  only  the  joys  they  knew,  but  many  of 
the  friends  who  gave  them.  You  have  entered 
upon  the  autumn  of  your  being,  and  whatever  may 
have  been  the  profusion  of  your  spring,  or  the 
warm  intemperance  of  your  summer,  there  is  yet 
a  season  of  stillness  and  of  solitude  which  the 
beneficence  of  Heaven  affords  you,  in  which  you 
may  meditate  upon  the  past  and  the  future,  and 
prepare  yourselves  for  the  mighty  change  which 
you  are  soon  to  undergo. 

If  it  be  thus,  my  elder  brethren,  you  have  the 
wisdom  to  use  the  decaying  season  of  nature,  it 
brings  with  it  consolations  more  valuable  than  all 
the  enjoyments  of  former  days.    In  the  long  retro- 
spect of  your  journey,  you  have  seen  every  day 
the  shades  of  the  evening  fall,  and  every  year  the 
clouds  of  winter  gather.     But.you  have  seen  also, 
every  succeeding  day,  the  morning   arise  in  its 
brightness,    and   in   every  succeeding  year,   the 
spring  return  to  renovate  the  winter  of  nature.    It 
is  now  you  may  understand  the  magnificent  lan- 
guage of  Heaven,— it  mingles  its  voice  with  that 
of  revelation, — it   summons   you,  in  these  hours 
when  the  leaves  fall,  and  the  winter  is  gathering, 
to  that  evening  study  which  the  mercy  of  Heaven 
has  provided  in  the  book  of  salvation  :  And,  while 
the  shadowy  valley  opens  which  leads  to  the  abode 
of  death,  it  speaks  of  that  hand  which  can  comfort 
and  can   save,   and  which  can  conduct  to  those 
<^  green"  pastures,  and  those  still  waters,"  where 
there  U  an  eternal  spring  for  the  children  of  God, 


t'rlf 


SERMON   XVII. 


ON  THE  JUBILEE,  APPOINTED  FOR  THE  50th  ANNIVERSARY  0|!' 
THE  KING'S  ACCESSION,  OCTOBER  25,  1809. 


Genesis  xliii.  27,  28. 

«» And  Joseph  asked  them  of  their  welfare,  and  said,  Is  your  father 
well  ?  The  old  man  of  whom  ye  spake,  is  he  yet  alive  ?  And  they 
answered.  Our  father  is  yet  alive.  And  they  bowed  down  their 
heads,  and  made  obeisance." 

These  were  the  words  of  the  patriarch  Joseph^ 
one  of  the  most  distinguished  personages  whom 
we  meet  with  in  the  early  history  of  the  world, 
and  from  whose  pathetick  story  the  infant  mind 
receives  its  first  impressions  of  genuine  greatness. 
In  the  preceding  part  of  the  narrative,  we  feel 
all  the  interests  which  arise  from  adventure  and 
success.  We  rejoice  in  that  event  by  which  the 
inhumanity  of  his  brethren  is  leading  to  the  pun- 
ishment it  deserves ;  and  while  we  contemplate, 
with  satisfaction,  the  hand  of  Providence  which 
is  conducting  this  interesting  story,  we  yet  trem- 
ble  as  we  proceed,  lest  the  conceptions  we  had 
formed  of  the  character  of  Joseph,  may  be  lost  in 


ON  THE  JUBILEE,  1809. 


225 


his  accomplishment  of  tlie  dread  revenge  which 
was  then  placed  in  his  power.     It  is  the  simple, 
but  pathetick  question  of  the  text,  which  resolves 
all  our  doubts.     The  words,  "  is  your  father  yet 
<(  alive  ?"  let  us  at  once  into  his  heart.     We  see 
a  mind   which   neither  injury  could   harden  nor 
prosperity  corrupt ;  which  looks  back  with  undi- 
minished affection  to  its  first  and  its  purest  attach- 
ments; — which  liails  with  thankfulness  the  inteU 
ligence,  that  that  father  now  lives,  who,  amid  all 
his  distance,  and  all  his  greatness,  has  never  been 
forgotten  ;  and  in  these  workings  of  nature  in  his 
uncorrupted  bosom,  we  readily  anticipate  all  the 
exquisite  virtue  which  he  is  afterwards  to  display. 
It  is  with  a  sentiment  similar,   I  trust,  to  the 
grateful  joy  of  the  patriarch,  that  we,  my  brethren, 
and  all  the  people  of  this  land  are  now  assembled. 
The  beneficence  of  Heaven  has  permitted  us  to 
witness  an  event  which  it  is  rarely  given  to  the 
brevity  of  human  life  to  see ;  and  it  has  been  met 
with  feelings  which  exalt  patriotism  into  devotion. 
— Amid  the  calamities  of  war,  and  the  sufterings 
of  nations,  the  majestick  multitude  of  the  British 
people  are,  in  this  moment,   prostrated  in  tli  mk- 
fulness  before  tiiat  God,  by  "  whom  Kings  reign, 
"and  Princes  minister  justice  ;"  and  while  coeval 
thrones  are  deserted  of  their  possessors,  or  are 
trembling  to  their  fall,  the   grateful  spirit  of  this 
country  approaches  with  firm  step  the  throne  of  its 
S9 


22®  ON  THE  JUBILEE,  1809. 

sovereign^  and  places  upon    liis  grey  hairs  th« 
crown  of  patriot  glory. 

Twice  only,  and  that  in  the  dark  and  distant 
ages  of  our  history,  has  the  eye  of  the  citizen 
opened  upon  a  spectacle  so  suhlime  ;  and  ere  it  can 
again  return,  the  eye  of  every  one  that  lives  will 
long  have  been  closed  in  the  grave.  In  a  moment 
of  such  deep  and  various  sensibility,  I  feel  that  it 
becomes  me  to  limit  myself  to  a  few  simple  obser- 
vations,— happy  only  in  being  permitted  to  unite 
my  humble  voice  with  that  of  my  country,  and  in 
being  able  ^^  to  bow  my  head  in  obeisance  before 
^*  the  King  of  Kings,"  while  I  say,  with  the  affec- 
tionate gratitude  of  the  children  of  Israel,  ^*  our 
^father  is  yet  alive." 

It  is  in  general,  I  fear,  a  very  rude  and  unthink- 
ing estimate  that  men  form  of  the  character  of 
sovereigns  ;  and  there  are  prejudices  very  com- 
mon in  the  world,  which  induce  it  to  demand,  from 
those  who  govern  mankind,  qualities  altogether 
incompatible  with  the  welfare  or  the  liberty  of 
those  who  are  governed. — The  imagination  of 
youth  and  of  ignorance  is  dazzled  with  the  splen- 
dours of  the  legislator  and  the  hero; — the  vanity 
of  nations  is  gratified  by  the  glory  of  conquest,  and 
with  the  tale  of  extended  dominion ; — and  the 
world,  in  general,  judging  from  this  high  and  ro- 
mantick  standard,  are  apt  to  conceive  that  no  cha- 
racters become  a  throne,  but  those  which  display 
these  lofty  or  sanguinary  features.    They  forget? 


ON  THE  JUBILEE,  1809.  227 

meanwhile,  tbat  such  qualities  are  applicable  only 
to  scenes  of  turbulence  or  barbarity  ; — they  forget, 
that  nature  bleeds  while  the  hero  triumphs,  antl 
that  the  energies  of  the  legislator  involve  also  the 
powers  of  the  despot ;— they  forget,  that  while  the 
individual  thus  raises  himself  in  their  estimation, 
he  rises  upon  the  degradation  of  every  other  rank 
in  society ;  that  virtue  is  not  hereditary  like  the 
throne  :  and  that  the  same  unlimited  powers  which 
form  at  times  the  patriot  and  the  hero,  form,  in  far 
greater  profusion,  the  oppressors  and  the  tyrants  of 
the  world. 

But  whatever,  in  the  infancy  of  nations,  be  the 
glory  of  the  legislative  mind  whieli  gives  society- 
its  first  foundation,  or  whatever,  in  subsequent 
times,  be  the  dark  utilities  of  the  conqueror,  whose 
exterminating  sword  is  the  instrument  of  divine 
justice  in  avenging  its  crimes,  it  is  the  lofty  and 
unshared  privilege  of  this  country  to  say,  that  sucU 
is  not  the  legitimate  character  of  its  sovereigns ; 
and  the  citizen  of  Britain  has  little  known  to  esti- 
mate  the  character  that  is  worthy  of  its  throne, 
when  he  assimilates  it  to  any  situation  either  of 
ancient  or  of  modern  greatness.  Inheriting  a  con- 
stitutional throne,  to  which  its  former  agitations 
have  now  lent  almost  the  stability  of  nature,  and 
wielding  a  sceptre  which  has  been  given,  and  not 
wrested  from  his  people,  the  sovereign  of  this  coun- 
try is  invested,  not  with  the  vulgar  terrours  of 
power,  but  with  the  majesty  and  sanctity  of  law  : 


228  ON  THE  JUBILEE,  1809. 

and  the  character  of  his  greatness,  like  that  which 
reigns  in  the  government  of  the  universe,  is  to  be 
discerned  in  the  silence  of  order,  and  in  the  steadi- 
ness of  regulated  wisdom.  Enthroned  amid  the 
waves  of  the  ocean,  and  at  a  distance  from  the 
insults  of  every  enemy,  it  is  his  prerogative  to  rest 
unmoved  amid  all  the  conflicts  that  may  assail  him  ; 
— to  delegate  to  the  brave  of  his  people  the  powers 
which  he  must  not  descend  to  employ  himself; — 
and  to  make  the  winds  and  the  waves  the  messen- 
gers of  his  justice  or  of  his  mercy  to  mankind. 

The  attitude,  therefore,  which  becomes  him,  is 
not  that  of  the  legislator,  or  the  hero,  but  that  of 
the  FATHER  OF  HIS  PEOPLE; — the  virtues  which  suit 
the  majesty  of  his  situation  are  not  those  which 
dazzle,  but  those  which  bless  mankind  ; —  and  the 
radiance  which  ought  to  surround  his  throne,  is  not 
that  of  personal  and  dangerous  greatness,  but  that 
of  legitimate  power,  and  paternal  authority. 

Such  is  the  character  which  belongs  to  the  sove- 
reign of  this  country  ; — such  were  the  sentiments 
which  dwelt  in  the  mind  of  our  present  sovereign, 
when,  in  the  first  hours  of  his  reign,  he  made  it  his 
proud  boast  that  he  was  born  a  Briton,  and  when 
he  took  that  solemn  oath  to  his  people,  which  has 
given  the  firm  consistency  of  principle  to  his  reign; 
— and  such,  in  this  hour,  after  the  long  trial  of  fifty 
years,  are  the  virtues  which  it  is  the  privilege  of  his 
people  to  know,  and  their  pride  to  acknowledge. 
Amid  all  the  agitations  of  that  extended  period ; — 


ON  THE  JUBILEE,  1809.  229 

amid  the  years  of  a  reign  more  arduous  and  more 
eventful  than  any  that  has  occurred  in  the  history 
of  mankind  ;  when  society  has  been  assuming  a 
new  form,  and  when  causes  have  begun  to  operate, 
which  may  cliange,  in  many  respects,  all  the  social 
institutions  of  men, — his  path  has  been  ever  the 
simple  but  majestick  path  of  duty.  Firm  to  the 
obligations  which  he  first  contracted  to  his  people, 
— he  has  identified  his  own  glory  with  the  glory  of 
their  constitution,  and  leaving,  with  the  lofty  spirit 
of  a  king  of  England,  less  fortunate  nations  to  re- 
dress their  wrongs,  or  to  remedy  their  suflierings, — 
he  has  sought  only  to  maintain  inviolate  tiie  mighty 
system  which  he  was  born  to  rule,  and  which  he 
had  sworn  to  maintain.  While  he  has  thus  sought 
to  deserve  the  affection  of  his  people,  it  is  his  sin- 
gular fortune  to  have  gained  it, — to  have  reigned 
over  men  of  kindred  honour,  and  kindred  honesty  ; 
— to  have  found,  amid  all  the  turbulence  of  faction, 
and  all  the  profligacies  of  party,  that  the  afl'ections 
of  his  subjects  \yere  still  with  him  : — to  have  seen 
his  country  ascend,  amid  all  its  difficulties,  to  an 
eminence  in  wealth,  in  dignity,  and  in  consequencej 
which  no  eye  of  his  ancestors  had  witnessed; — 
and,  even  in  the  present  hour  of  danger  and  of 
alarm,  to  see  it  display  a  magnitude  of  power,  and 
assume  an  attitude  of  greatness,  which,  at  the  com- 
mencement of  his  reign,  the  enthusiasm  of  patriotism 
itself  durst  not  Jiave  ventured  to  foretell. 


230  ON  THE  JUBILEE,  1809. 

The  duties  of  the  throne,  however,  demand  other 
virtues ;  and  he  who  is  destined  to  reign  over  a 
free  people,  is  called  by  Heaven,  not  only  to  be 
their  sovereign,  but  their  model, — to  go  before 
them  in  the  road  of  piety  and  virtue,  and  to  give 
to  the  morals  and  manners  of  his  age,  the  stamp 
of  his  prevailing  example.  How  these  duties 
have  been  accomplished, — what  have  been  the 
private  virtues  that  adorn  the  throne, — and  what 
has  been  the  tenour  of  that  example,  through  the 
long  period  of  half  a  century,  the  pious  grati- 
tude of  the  people  of  this  country  leaves  it  not  to 
the  fidelity  of  the  historian  to  tell,  but  seizes  this 
day  to  acknowledge. 

It  acknowledges  that  elevated  piety,  which  is  not 
now  only  the  ornament  of  his  hoary  head,  but  which 
gave  grace  to  the  majesty  of  his  youthful  throne, 
and  which  was  the  pledge  to  his  people  of  the  high 
sentiments  by  which  his  future  reign  and  his  future 
life  were  to  be  governed.  It  acknowledges  that 
purity  of  domestick  manners,  whivh  has  not  only 
been  the  model,  but  still  more  the  reproach  of  his 
subjects;  which  has  given  to  the  usual  splendours 
wf  the  court  the  virtuous  simplicity  of  the  cottage ; 
and  which  has  taken  from  rank  and  affluence  all 
the  vulgar  apologies  of  vice,  by  shewing  that  to 
noble  minds  the  greatest  situations  are  the  most 
innocent. — It  acknowledges  that  patriot  zeal, 
which  has  never  ceased  to  glow  for  the  improve- 
ment of  his  country,  Which,  selecting  from  the 


ON  THE  JUBILEE,  1809.  *231 

varieties  of  occupation  that  fundamental  art  wliich 
gives  their  power  and  independence  to  nations, 
has  collected  the  rays  of  royal  favour  upon  the 
simple  labours  of  the  husbandman ;  and  which, 
passing  the  limits  of  his  own  empire,  has  sought 
to  carry  to  new  and  barbarous  shores,  the  bless- 
ings  of  cultivated  life,  and  the  light  of  revealed 
religion ; — it  acknowledges  yet  farther,  that  purity 
of  taste,  which  has  given  even  to  his  hours   of 
leisure  and  of  amusement  the  character  of  royalty, 
— which  has  disdained  every   ignoble   pleasure 
by  which  the  character  of  sovereigns  has  been  so 
often   degraded, — and  which    has    reserved   its 
patronage  for  those  finer  arts  alone  which  elevate, 
without  corrupting  the  human  heart,  and  which 
ally  themselves  either  to  the  sublimity  of  religious, 
or  the  dignity  of  moral  sentiment. 

These  are  the  virtues  which  this  day  acknow- 
ledges ; — the  virtues  characteristick  of  a  sove- 
reign of  this  country ;  which  make  him  indeed 
the  father  of  his  people  ;  and  which,  in  this  hour, 
are  marked  by  Heaven,  not  so  much  by  the  splen- 
dours of  the  court  which  surrounds  his  throne, 
or  by  the  throng  and  acclaim  of  the  thousand 
cities  which  people  his  realm,  as  by  the  humble 
tears  of  the  aged  peasant  in  the  cottage,  who 
numbers  his  years  by  his  reign, — who  blesses 
Heaven  that  his  lot  has  fallen  in  his  days, — and 
who,  when  he  teaclies  his  children  the  course 
of  a  virtuous  life,  points  with  exulting  hand  to 
the  example  of  their  sovereign  upon  the  throne. 


232  ON  THE  JUBILEE,  1809. 

It  is  the  usual  infirmity,  however,  of  our  nature, 
to  undervalue  what  we  have  long  possessed  ;  and 
the  eye  of  the  citizen,  which,  whenever  it  has  beea 
raised  to  the  throne,  has  met  the  same  venerahle 
form,  may  come  at  last  to  regard  it  with  the  same 
carelessness  and  insensibility,  with  which  he  re- 
gards the  regular  beneficence  of  Providence. 

[f  so   uumanly  a  weakness  should    chill  for  a 
moment  the  gratitude  of  this  day  ; — if,  in  the  bosom 
of  one  British  subject,  there  can  tlwell  ignorance 
or  indifference  to  the  glory  of  his  country,  let  him 
turn  his  wayward  eye  from  that  prosperity  which 
has  satiated  it,  and  mark  among  the  nations  which 
surround  us,  what  has  been  the  character  of  their 
thrones.     Let  him  mark  the  aspects  under  which, 
to  them,  this  long  period  of  British  greatness  com- 
menced, and  those  under  which  it  now  has  closed  ; 
— Jet  him  mark  what  has  been  the  condition  of  the 
people,  where  superstition  governed,  where  ambi- 
tion triumphed,  or  where  profligacy  reigned  ; — let 
him  mark  what  have  been  the  effects  which  the 
corruption  of  courts,   the  dissolution   of  publick 
manners,  the  pride  of  privileged  orders  have  pro- 
duced, in  levelling  to  the  dust  the  most  venerable 
institutions  of  time  ; — let  him  mark  that  fiery  fur- 
nace, yet  intensely  burning,  in  which  all  the  proud- 
est honours   of  ancestry,  and  rank,  and  royalty, 
have  been  dissolved,  and  from  the  dross  of  which 
are  now  issuing  vulgar  crowns  and  temporary  dia- 
dems. 


ON  THE  JUBILEE,  1809.  233 

From  this  tremendous  spectacle  let  him  recal 
his  eye  to  liis  native  land,  green  with  the  dew  of 
Heaven,  and  rejoicing  beneath  the  labour  of  men  ; 
— let  liim  listen  to  the  cheerful  activity  of  its  cities, 
and  the  careless  song  of  its  fields  : — let  him  follow 
the  sails  of  its  commerce  as  they  brighten  beneatli 
every  wind  of  Heaven,  and  the  thunder  of  its  arms 
as  they  roll  wherever  the  waters  of  the  ocean  flow ; 
—  let  him  mark  the  senate-house  of  his  country, 
still  rearing  its  majestick  head  amid  all  the  other 
destructions  of  time,  and  the  sceptre  of  its  dominion 
yet  firm  in  that  paternal  hand,  which  first  received 
the  offering  of  his  infant  loyalty ; — and  then  let 
liim  say,  whether,  on  this  memorable  day,  it  is  not 
a  good,  as  well  as  a  pleasant  thing  to  be  thankful? 
— whether  the  eye,  which  is  permitted  to  see  this 
scene  of  prosperity,  ought  not  to  be  raised  to  that 
Heaven  which  bestows  it  ? — whether  there  be  any 
principle  of  patriotism  so  steadfast  or  so  sublime 
as  that  which  is  sanctified  by  religion  ? — whether 
there  be  any  blessing,  for  which  a  virtuous  people 
ought  so  humbly  to  bow  their  heads  in  obeisance 
to  Heaven,  as  for  the  lengthened  days  of  a  patriot 
king? — and  whe^ier  there  be  any  means  so  power- 
ful to  create  or  to  continue  the  virtues  which  be- 
come a  British  throne,  as  the  willing  gratitude  of 
a  British  people  ? 

And  the  children  of  Israel  answered,  '^  Our 
^^  father  is  yet  alive."  There  is  joy,  my  brethren, 
there  is  thankfulness  in  the  words, — but  is  there 
30 


234  ON  THE  JUBILEE,  1809. 

not  something  in  them  also  which  is  pathetick  ?  Is 
tliere  not  sometliing  which  reminds  us  of  the  feeble 
tenure  by  which  all  our  affections  are  held,  and 
which  points,  with  but  too  intelligible  a  hand,  to 
tliat  future  and  inevitable  day,  when  other  tears 
than  those  of  joy  and  gratulation  are  to  flow. 

It  is,  indeed,  the  melancholy  condition  of  our 
nature ;  but  let  it  never  be  forgotten,  that  it  is  this 
melancholy  condition  itself  which  gives  origin  to 
some  of  our  purest  virtues ; — it  is  this  conscious- 
ness,— it  is  these  trembling  anticipations — which 
teach  us  all  the  tenderness  of  duty  ;  which  multi- 
ply our  cares  as  nature  seems  to  withdraw  the 
object  of  them  from  our  arms  ;  and  which  prompt 
us  to  strain  only  more  ardently  to  our  embrace,  the 
fading  form  that  so  soon  must  leave  it. 

And  Joseph  said,  "  Haste  you,  and  go  up  unto 
^^  my  father ;  and  say  unto  hira,  come  down  unto 
^^  me  and  tarry  not ;  and  thou  shalt  dwell  in  the 
^^  land  of  Goshen,  and  thou  shall  be  near  unto  me, 
(^  thou,  and  thy  children,  and  thy  children's  chil- 
^^  dren,  and  thy  flocks  and  thy  herds,  and  all  that 
^^  thou  hast ;  and  there  will  I  nourish  thee,  thou, 
"  and  thy  children,  and  thy  household,  lest  ever 
"  thou  shouldst  come  to  want." 

These  were  the  grateful  resolutions  of  Joseph : 
and  such  are,  my  brethren,  on  this  day,  and  in  this 
place,  the  resolutions  that  become  the  people  of 
this  land* 


ON  THE  JUBILEE,  1809.  235 

Born,  (as  the  greater  part  of  us  have  been)  be- 
neath his  paternal  reign  ;  sharing  in  the  honours 
which  tlie  vjrtues  of  a  sovereign  ever  throw  over 
his  age,  and  in  the  blessings  which  Heaven  sheds 
upon  the  throne  that  is  *'  establislied  by  righteous- 
*^  ness  ;"  carried  (in  every  year  of  this  long  peri- 
od) as  we  and  all  our  interests  have  been  in  his 
bosom,  and  remembered  in  every  day  in  every 
prayer  which  he  has  offered  to  Heaven,  ours  is  now 
the  grateful  duty  to  nourish  his  grey  hairs  with  the 
tenderness  of  children; — to  guard,  with  jealous 
love,  the  throne  which  he  fills,  alike  from  foreigu 
injury,  and  from  internal  insult; — to  press,  with 
more  affectionate  loyalty,  to  our  bosom  that  aged 
head,  over  which  adversity  has  shed  otiier  sor- 
rows than  those  of  time  ; — to  smooth  with  fond 
hands,  that  inevitable  path,  which  conducts  vir- 
tue as  well  as  glory  to  the  grave  ; — and  to  ask, 
with  fervent  prayer,  that  his  remaining  course  may 
be  like  that  of  the  summer  sun,  when  he  sets  at 
last,  slowly  and  serenely  in  the  west,  amid  the 
blessings  of  a  grateful  world. 

These  are  the  i*esolutions  which  befit  this  place 
and  this  hour, — the  resolutions  which  befit  a  great 
people,  who,  while  they  know  their  rights,  ac- 
knowledge also  their  duties; — the  resolutions 
which  give  the  sensibilities  of  love  to  the  energies 
of  loyalty  ; — which  proclaim  to  the  successors  of 
the  throne,  the  path  of  genuine  glory ; — and  which, 
amid  all  tlie  guilt  and  all  the  miseries  of  society, 


^Se  ON  THE  JUBILEE,  1809. 

testify  to  Heaven  and  Earth,  that  there  is  yet  one 
throne  which  is  founded  in  justice,  and  one  people 
who  can  honour  virtue. 

You  have  novr,  my  friends  and  fellovr-citizens, 
performed  the  solemn  duty  of  this  day  ; — you  have 
obeyed  it  as  men,  by  presenting  the  oflering  of 
your  united  thanksgiving  upon  the  altar  of  the 
'*  King  of  Kings ;" — you  have  hallowed  it,  I  trust, 
as  Christians,  by  making  the  wretched  partakers 
of  your  joy, — by  visiting  the  prisoners  in  their 
affliction, — by  "  undoing  the  heavy  burdens,  and 
**  letting  the  oppressed  go  free." 

You  are  now  to  return  into  a  happy  world, — 
to  meet  the  multitude  of  your  brethren  and  fellow- 
citizens, — and  to  partake  in  the  diffusion  of  the 
general  joy.  Go  then,  with  these  high  remem- 
brances in  your  bosom,  and  open  your  hearts  to 
the  sublimity  of  that  sentiment  which  unites  the 
feelings  of  a  free  people,  and  add  your  voices  to 
that  prevailing  song,  which  never  wakens  without 
bidding  the  British  heart  beat  high  with  thoughts 
of  patriotism  and  triumph  ; — go,  ere  yet  the  day 
closes  its  proud  festivity,  and  assemble  your  chil- 
dren about  you,  and,  while  the  voice  of  thank- 
fulness is  yet  loud  and  long  around  them,  seize 
the  auspicious  moment  to  impress  upon  their  glow- 
ing hearts  the  love  of  their  country.  Tell  them, 
that  these  are  the  honours  due  to  a  patriot  sove- 
reign ; — tell  them,  that  the  purest  breath  which 


OlSr  THE  JUBILEE,  1809.  '      S37 

HeavpTi  lends  to  awaken  the  virtues  of  the  throne, 
is  the  £;ratitu(le  of  the  i)eoi)le ;— tell  them,  that 
while  the  adulation  of  slaves  is  vice,  the  loyalty 
of  free-horn  men  is  virtue  ; — and  while  you  raise 
their  youthful  hands  in  thankfulness  to  God,  that 
their  inheritance  is  given  tiiern  in  a  free  country, 
teach  them,  in  that  sacred  moment,  to  pledge  their 
youthful  hearts  to  love,  and  their  youthful  arms  to 
defend  it. 


SERMON  XVIII. 


ON  THE  CONSOLATIONS  WHICH  THE  GOSPEL  AFFORDS  UNDER 
THE  NATURAL  EVILS  OF  LIFE. 


St.  John  ix.  1. 

"  And  as  Jesus  passed  by,  he  saw  a  man  wliich  was  blind  from  his' 
birth  ; — And  his  disciples  asked  him,  saying,  Master,  who  did  sin, 
this  man  or  his  parents,  that  he  was  born  blind  ? — Jesus  answered, 
neither  hath  this  man  sinned,  nor  his  parents  :  but  that  the  works 
of  God  should  be  made  manifest  in  him." 

Among  the  questions  which  were  proposed  to 
our  Saviour  by  his  disciples,  there  is  scarcely 
any  one  of  a  deeper  or  more  interesting  nature, 
than  that  which  is  related  in  the  words  of  the 
text.  Wherever  we  pass  through  life,  we  see 
scenes  of  melancholy,  of  misfortune,  and  of  wretch- 
edness ;  and  the  great  question  of  every  human 
heart,  is  What  is  the  end  or  purpose  of  these 
afflictions  of  our  nature  ;  and  upon  what  princi- 
ple are  we  to  account  for  them,  in  the  administra- 
tion of  a  benevolent  God  ?  It  is  a  question  which 
has  been  asked  in  every  age,  and  which  has 
received  various  solutions,  according  to  the  know- 
ledge and  capacity  of  those  who  examined  it. 


ON  THE  CONSOLATIONS,  &c.  239 

But  it  is  in  the  power  of  the  Son  of  Gorl  alone 
to  give  the  satisfactory  solution  ;  and  it  is  one  of 
the  greatest  privileges  of  his  followers  to  know 
the  reply. 

All  the  evils  or  calamities  with  which  human 
nature  is  afflicted,  are  reducible  to  two  great  class- 
es, or  divisions;  and  in  one  or  other  of  them, 
every  suffering  or  sorrow  may  be  included. 

The  first  and  the  greatest  of  these  is,  that 
which  arises  from  ourselves  ; — the  sufferings 
which  arise  from  crrour,  or  from  sin.  To  this 
important  class  of  human  miseries,  the  answer  of 
our  Saviour  in  the  text  does  not  apply ;  and  with 
regard  to  such  evils,  there  are  two  very  impor- 
tant observations  to  be  made  botli  with  regard  to 
their  origin,  and  their  end. 

Such  evils,  be  they  of  what  extent  of  of  what 
magnitude  they  may,  are  not  the  appointments  of 
God, — they  are  the  productions  of  our  own  will, 

they  are  the  consequences  of  our  own  conduct ; 

and  so  far  are  they  from  arising  from  his  will, 

that  they  all  arise  from  opposition  to  it,  and  from 
neglect  or  disobedience  of  those  great  moral 
laws,  which  he  has  given  as  the  fundamental 
principles  of  our  being,  and  of  our  happiness. 
The  second  observation  which  applies  to  this 
class  of  miseries  is,  that,  while  they  derive  their 
origin  from  our  own  infirmity  or  guilt,  their  final 
purpose  is  to  restore  us,  by  repentance,  to  the 
innocence  and  the  happiness  we  had  lost.    It  is 


240  CONSOLATIONS  IN  MISFORTUNE 

for  this  great  end,  that  every  vice  and  every  folly 
has  its  own  appropriate  and  proportioned  suffer- 
ing ; — it  is  for  this  purpose,  that  the  bosom  of  the 
guilty  is  filled  with  so  many  dark  and  instinctive 
fears  : — it  is  for  this  purpose,  that  evil,  in  so  many 
awful  and  conspicuous  shapes,  is  made  to  pursue 
sin,  that  even  the  spectators  of  the  scene  may  be 
made  wise  by  the  sufferings  of  others,  and  return 
from  the  deepest  tragedy  of  their  nature  with 
hearts  made  wiser  and  better.  With  regard  to  this 
first  class,  then,  of  human  miseries,  it  is  obvious, 
that  it  derives  its  origin  from  man  alone,  and  that, 
even  amid  all  its  prevalence  or  intensity,  the  spirit 
of  Grod  is  ever  operating  *^  to  overcome  evil  with 
^'  final  good.'' 

The  second  class  of  human  sufferings  are  those 
which  arise,  not  from  ourselves,  but  from  the  laws 
to  which  our  nature  is  subject ; — the  evils  which 
the  ignorant  every  where  ascribe  to  chance  and  to 
time,  and  which  the  wise  and  the  pious  ascribe  to 
the  will  and  providence  of  God.  Of  such  evils, 
the  world  affords  us  many  examples ; — of  such, 
our  own  hearts  are  ever  forming  many  fears  ; — 
and  with  regard  to  such,  it  is  of  deep  consequence 
that  we  should  listen,  not  to  the  voice  of  our  own 
despondent  hearts,  but  to  the  blest  revelations  of 
religion.  When,  either  in  ourselves  or  in  others, 
we  see  it  is  guilt  that  is  punished  ; — we  feel  the 
justice,  and  we  perceive  the  end.  But  when  inno- 
cence suffers ; — when  it  is  upon  the  head  of  the 


AFFORDED  BY  THE  GOSPEL.  241 

pious  and  the  good  that  afflictions  M\,  we  arc  not 
so  easily  satisfied  ;  and  it  is  often  the  most  cruel 
ags^iavation  of  calamity  itself,  tiiat  the  innocent 
sufl'erers  are  apt  to  doubt  the  mercy  of  Heaven  ; 
to  fear,  like  the  disciples  in  the  text,  "  that  they 
*'  or  their  parents  had  sinned,"  and  that  the  mis- 
fortunes they  endure  are  rather  punishment  than 
trial. — It  is  this  class  of  evils,  peculiarly,  to  which 
the  ever  memorable  answer  of  our  Saviour  Iia« 
respect.  It  was  an  innocent  sufferer  whose  mis- 
fortunes he  tlien  commiserated  and  cured  ;  and  it 
is  to  such,  in  every  future  age,  that  the  mighty  and 
consoling  language  of  his  reply  is  addressed. 
The  subject,  therefore,  my  brethren,  is  one  which 
has  its  interest  to  every  human  heart :  and  what 
this  incident  contains  for  our  comfort  and  instruc- 
tion, I  shall  now  endeavour  very  briefly  to  explain 
to  you. 

1.  You  will  observe  then,  in  the  first  place,  the 
situation  and  condition  of  the  poor  sufferer  in  the 
text.  It  is  not  easy  to  conceive  any  being  belong- 
ing to  the  race  of  man  more  obscure  or  depressed. 
He  is  a  blind  man  ; — he  is  left  by  his  parents  (as 
we  learn  in  the  sequel  of  the  story,)  to  the  compas- 
sion of  the  world  ; — he  sits  by  the  wayside  to  im- 
plore it;  and  it  is  accident  alone  which  seems  to 
bring  him  within  the  notice  of  our  Saviour  and  his 
disciples.  No  situation  of  human  nature  can  be 
conceived  more  lost,  more  insignificant,  or  more 
forgotten  than  this  which  first  presents  itself  in  the 
31 


242  CONSOLATIONS  IN  MISFORTUNE 

picture  ;  and  yet,  when  we  learn  the  whole,  when 
we  see  the  conclusion  of  the  story,  over  this  de- 
serted and  hopeless  being  we  see  the  eye  of  Provi- 
dence immediately  impending, — we  see,  even  be- 
fore his   birth,  the  important  destiny  determined, 
which  his   calamity  was  to  fulfil  ; — we  see,  that 
in  him,  the  ^*  works  of  God  were  to  be  made  man- 
"ifest;'^  and  that  the  cure  of  an  individual,   so 
neglected  and  obscure  that  we  know  neither  his 
history  nor  name,  was   yet  to  be   the  source  of 
instruction    and  of  comfort  to  many  millions  of 
mankind,  in  every  succeeding  age  of  the  Gospel. 
There  is  nothing  in  language,  or  in  all  the  powers 
of  reasoning,  which  can   so  powerfully  evince  to 
lis  the  great  truth  of  the  Providence  and  perpetual 
care  of  God,  as  this  simple  and  unadorned  fact. 
It  tells  us,  at  once,  that   to  his  eye  all   hearts  are 
open,  all  sorrows  known,  and    that  no  secret  suf- 
fering is  hid  from  him  ;  that  wherever  the  creation 
of  God  extends,  the  works  of  God  will  be  per- 
formed ;  and  that  wherever,  in  his  system,  there 
are  mourners,  in  the  same   system  there  are   the 
means  of  consolation. 

2.  You  will  observe,  in  the  second  place,  my 
brethren,  the  nature  of  the  calamity  which  is 
represented  to  us  in  the  words  of  the  text.  It  is 
that,  of  all  human  sufferings  or  misfortunes,  which 
is  at  once  the  most  hopeless  and  the  most  irreme- 
diable ;  in  which  no  exertion  of  the  sufferer  him- 
self can  arail,  and  iu  which  no  benevolent  labour 


AFFORDED  BY  THE  GOSPEL.  243 

of  others  can  lio]>e  for  remedy.  The  poor  man 
upon  the  wayside  was  not  only  blind,  but  was 
born  bliiid.  It  is  in  this  very  circumstance ;  in 
the  hopeless  nature  of  the  calamity,  that  the  great 
and  consolins;  lesson  of  the  story  consists  ;  and 
it  was  purposely  to  one  whom  no  human  power 
could  relieve,  that  the  Son  of  God  arrives,  to  shew 
his  discijiles  then,  and  for  ever,  that  there  are 
2;reater  powers  in  existence  than  those  of  man ; 
that  the  power  of  God  is  limited  by  nothing  but, 
Lis  will ; — that  the  things  which  are  impossible 
unto  man,  are  possible  unto  Him  ; — and  that  He 
who  in  one  mighty  hour  said  "  Let  there  be  light, 
<'  and  there  was  light,"  can,  in  every  hour,  cause 
his  light  to  arise  over  the  most  hopeless  and  most 
benighted  condition  of  the  human  soul. 

3.  You  will  observe,  in  the  third  place,  my 
brethren,  the  character  of  the  person  who  becomes, 
in  so  conspicuous  a  manner,  the  object  of  the  di- 
vine mercv.  The  circumstances  transmitted  to 
us,  with  regard  to  him,  are  few ;  but  they  are  of 
a  nature  to  afford  us  full  instruction.  "  Neither 
«  this  man  nor  his  parents  had  sinned."  The 
affliction  with  which  he  was  visited  was  not  the 
result  of  his  own  folly  or  guilt,  but  the  appoint- 
ment of  Him  who  made  him  ;  and  in  his  conduct 
under  it  we  discern  all  the  marks  of  resignation 
and  genuine  devotion.  He  complains  not ; — ha 
importunes  not;—he  sits  humbly  by  the  wayside 
to  receive  the  charity  of  the  passengers,  without 


244  CONSOLATIONS  IN  MISFORTUNE 

demanding  it ;  and,  as  we  read  in  the  sequel  of 
the  story,  seems  to  fill  up  the  vacant  hours  of  a 
beni,^hted  life,  with  the  consolations  of  a  yet  im- 
perfect faith,  and  with  confidence  in  the  Gi-d  of 
his  fathers.  It  is  the  character,  of  all  others, 
which  the  gospel  loves,  and  which  it  loves  to 
form  ;  the  character  of  humble  patience  and  sub- 
missive piety  ; — the  character  of  silent  and  unos- 
tentatious goodness ; — the  character  of  that  simple 
but  sublime  devotion  which  humbles  itself  in  all 
situations  before  the  throne  of  wisdom,  and  which 
carries  with  it  the  promise  of  being  yet  exalted. 
To  such  a  character,  the  wor  d,  indeed,  pays  little 
attention.  But  it  is  precious  in  the  eyes  of  Him 
^*  who  seeth  in  secret."  It  is  to  such  sufferers 
who  sit  by  the  wayside  of  life,  and  whose  heads 
are  loaded  with  affliction,  that  the  Saviour  of  the 
world  still  comes  ; — and  it  is  to  the  eyes  which 
are  blinded  with  tears,  that  he  opens  the  prospect 
of  that  mightier  time,  "  when  the  works  of  God 
"  shall  be  made  manifest." 

Such  are  the  instructions  which  seem  to  arise 
from  the  memorable  incident  recorded  in  the  text. 
They  are  instructions  adapted  in  mercy  to  all,  in 
the  condition  of  our  present  being  ;  to  the  inhabi- 
tants of  a  world,  where  changes  and  chances 
seem  to  reign  ;  where  the  prosperous  and  the  hap- 
py are  yet  conscious  that  they  have  no  abiding- 
place  ; — and  where  happiness  is  ever  embittered 
by  the  remembrance  of  the  facility  with  which  it 


AFFORDED  BY  THE  GOSPEL.  245 

may  be  lost.  Amid  this  shadowy  and  unsubstan- 
tial scene,  they  teach  ns,  that  there  reisjus  One 
eternal  and  parental  Mind ;  that  no  condition 
which  it  contains  is  too  low  for  liis  love,  or  too 
great  for  his  power ;  tliat  life,  with  all  its  varieties, 
is  only  a  preparatory  scene  in  which  faith  may  be 
exercised,  and  hope  cultivated,  and  charity  ex- 
panded ;  and  that  the  only  immoveable  founda- 
tion of  human  happiness  is  in  obedience  to  Uis 
laws,  and  in  resignation  to  His  will. 

But  to  you,  my  afflicted  brethren,  to  you,  who- 
ever you  may  be,  who  come  from  the  house  of 
mourning  or  of  affliction,  the  words  of  the  text  have 
a  still  nearer  application.  It  was  for  you  that  this 
miracle  was  performed. — It  is  your  eyes  that  are 
opened  in  the  person  of  the  poor  sufferer  in  the 
Gospel ;  and  it  is  to  raise  your  minds  from  the 
doubts  and  the  despondencies  which  ever  mingle 
themselves  with  affliction,  that  the  memorable  ob- 
servations of  our  Saviour  himself  were  made. 

Do  you  then  doubt,  in  the  first  place,  with  the 
natural  despondency  of  sorrow,  whether  you  can 
be  the  objects  of  the  care  of  Heaven  ?  and  whether 
your  condition  can  attract  the  observation  of  the 
God  of  Infinity  ?  Go  back,  my  afflicted  brethren, 
to  the  poor  sufferer  in  the  text,  and  reflect  on  the 
circumstances  in  which  you  find  him  ; — remem- 
ber, that  over  him  and  over  his  deserted  fate, 
the  eye  of  Providence  was  yet  watchful ; — that, 
ere  his  birth,  the  circumstances  of  his  sufTering 


246  CONSOLATIONS  IN  MISFORTUNE 

and  his  reward  were  designed ; — and  that,  from 
this  obscure  and  nameless  being,  the  providence 
of  God  hath  brought  instruction  and  comfort  to 
every  age  and  generatioa  of  mankind.  Whatever, 
then,  be  the  abode  to  which  you  return,  go,  my 
brethren,  with  the  belief,  that  there  the  same  God 
is  present ; — that  no  event  h^s  happened  there, 
without  his  permission  and  appointment; — that  to 
you,  the  same  Saviour  is  sent  who  was  sent  unto 
him  ; — that,  to  the  eye  of  faith,  his  gospel  presents 
more  glorious  prospects  than  those  which  opened 
upon  the  eyes  of  the  blind ; — and  that,  for  the  same 
purpose  he  comes  to  you,  as  he  came  to  him,  that,  in 
the  restoration  of  your  afflicted  souls,  the  love  and 
the  power  of  your  Saviour  may  be  made  manifest. 
Do  you  tremble,  in  the  second  place,  (with  a 
fear  but  too  closely  allied  to  affliction,)  that  for 
your  sorrows  there  is  no  remedy? — that  hope 
arises  no  more  for  you,  and  that  there  is  no  power 
in  nature  which  can  give  you  again  what  you 
have  lost.  Come,  my  desponding  brethren,  to 
the  recollection  of  the  memorable  event  we  are 
considering.  Nothing  that  you  can  experience  is 
so  lost,  so  hopeless,  so  apparently  impossible,  as 
the  bestowing  of  sight  upon  "  one  that  was  born 
'^  blind,"  and  yet  all  this  was  done.  There  is, 
then,  a  pov/er  in  nature,  which  can  relieve  all  the 
sufferings  of  the  human  soul ; — there  is  a  Father 
in  nature,  who  permits  the  afflictions  of  the  inno- 
cent, only  that  he  may  relieve  them  by  greater 
joy.    These  are  the  lessons  which  this  important 


AFFORDED  BY  THE  GOSPEL,  24/ 

incident  teaches ;  and  there  is  no  calamity  of  suf- 
fering nature  to  which  they  do  not  apply.  Is  it 
under  the  loss  of  health  or  of  strength  that  you 
labour,  iny  brethren,  and  are  age  and  disease  com- 
ing upon  you  "  like  an  armed  man  ?"  There  is, 
in  the  universe  of  God,  another  state  of  being ;  a 
being  where  pain,  and  age,  and  death,  are  un- 
known ;  and  to  this  state  you  are  permitted  to 
aspire. — Is  it  under  the  loss  of  fortune  that  you 
grieve,  my  brethren,  under  the  neglect  and  forget- 
fulness  of  an  idle  world,  and  under  all  the  secret 
sorrows  with  which  poverty  loads  misfortune?  The 
hand  which  opened  the  eyes  of  the  blind,  points  out 
to  you  a  state  of  a  different  kind ;  a  state  where 
there  are  other  eyes  than  the  careless  eyes  of 
man  ; — where  there  are  treasures  w  hich  admit  of 
no  corruption ; — where  the  virtues  which  have 
been  nourished  in  secret,  will  be  rewarded  openly  ; 
— and  where  the  noblest  distinction  will  be  that 
of  those  who  have  ^^  continued  patiently  in  doing 
^*  well.''  Is  it  the  loss  of  friends,  my  brethren, 
that  you  lament ;  of  those  whom  nature  and  virtue 
has  made  dear,  and  who  have  wound  themselves 
around  your  souls  by  all  the  ties  of  habit  and  of 
love  ?  It  is  a  case  where  tears  are  due  ; — it  is  the 
case  over  which,  and  which  alone,  the  tears  of 
the  Son  of  God  himself  fell,  and  the  sorrow  is 
sacred  which  he  has  authorized.  Yet,  my  bre- 
thren, let  it  never  be  forgotten,  that  it  is  he  wlio 
wept  who  himself  provides  the  remedy  for  your 


248  CONSOLATIONS  IN  MISFORTUNE 

tears.  It  is  for  you  that  he  opens  the  eyes  of 
him  who  was  born  blind, — to  shew  you,  that  eve- 
ry thing  that  appears  impossible  to  yon  is  pos- 
sible unto  him  ;  it  is  for  you  that  he  himself 
passes  before  your  eyes,  through  the  valley  and 
shadow  of  death,  that  he  may  shew  you  that  it 
leads  only  into  the  sanctuary  of  God  ; — and  it  is 
for  you,  and  your  consolation,  that  he  returns 
again  among  those  whom  he  had  loved,  to  shew 
you,  that  death  will  not  separate  you  for  ever 
from  those  you  have  lost  ; — that  the  affections  of 
virtuous  love  are  as  immortal  as  the  being  that 
feels  them  ; — and  that  where  he  and  they  are, 
you  may  hope,  in  one  great  hour,  to  be,  and  to 
be  for  ever  reunited  with  them. 

Do  you  fear,  in  the  last  place,  my  brethren, 
with  a  timidity  inseparable  from  affliction,  that 
you  are  unworthy  of  these  hopes  ; — that  your 
days  of  obedience  and  exertion  are  gone,  and  that 
you  have  nothing  now  to  offer  to  heaven,  but  the 
ruins  of  a  frail  and  of  an  useless  being  ?  Come 
again,  my  brethren,  and  look  upon  the  situation 
of  the  poor  sufferer  in  this  story.  Nothing 
surely  in  human  form  was  ever  more  sunk  or 
more  useless  for  all  the  usual  purposes  of  life, 
and  yet  it  is  in  these  very  circumstances  that  the 
greatness  and  the  usefulness  of  his  mind  is  found. 
It  was  that  secret  piety  which  the  eye  of  the 
world  could  not  see,  which  distinguished  him  in 
the  eye  of  the  Almighty ; — it  was  that  fervent 


AFFORDED  BY  THE  GOSPFX.  249 

confidence  in   the  God  of  Israel,  which  brou£;ht 
the   Saviour  of  the   world   to  his  relief ; — it  was 
the  humility  of  his  sublime  submission,  which  has 
made  him  of  more  usefulness  to    mankind,  tlian 
all  who  ever   yet  filled  the  tiirones,  or  awakened 
the  admiration  of  a  lower  world.    Whatever  then, 
may  be  the  homes  to   wiiich  you  return,   carry 
with  you,  my  afflicted  hrethren,  the  remembrance 
of  hi^  virtues.     If  it  be  not  in  the  light  and  sun- 
shine of  life  that  you  are  now  to  act,  believe  that 
there    arc   virtues   belonging   to   solitude  and  to 
shade;  and  that,  wherever  virtue  can  be  exerted, 
there  honour  can   be  won.     Believe,  that  in  the 
''  si2:ht   of  him  who  secth   in  secret,"  the  tear  of 
submission  is   sacred,  and   the  prayer  for  assist- 
ance is  heard  ; — that  there  is  a  blessedness  which 
belongs  to  those  that  mourn  ; — aud  that  the  sor- 
rows  of  the   innocent  lead    "  to  that   purity  of 
^^  heart  which    shall  see   God  ;" — believe,    still 
more,  that  (while  you  are  unconscious  of  it)  there 
is  yet  an  angel  present  in  the  ^'  troul)led  waters" 
of  your  soul ;  that  from  your  humble  and  pious  re- 
signation, the  world  around  you  will  receive  more 
profound  instruction,  than  from  all  the  activity 
of  your  prosperous  years  ;  aud   that,  even  in  the 
depth   of  your   closet,   your  prayers   may  bring 
down   a  blessing  upon  your  children,  and  lead 
them  and  your  household  unto  salvation. 

Return,  then,  my  brethren   of  affliction,  to  the 
dwellings  which  your  father  has  assigned  you, 
32 


250  CONSOLATIONS  IN  MISFORTUNE,  &c, 

with  all  the  consolations  of  your  Saviour  upon 
your   souls.      Wherever  you   return,   there  are 
duties  that  yet  await  you  ;  and  wherever,  in  his 
family,  there  are  duties  to  he  performed,  there  is 
happiness  to  be  gained.     Return  with  that  faith 
which  is  able  not  only  to  overcome  the  world, 
but  to  overcome  all  its  woes ; — with  the  belief, 
that  no  being  that  God  hath  made  is  absent  from 
his   care,  or  indifferent  to  his    Wve ; — with  the 
belief,  that  there  are  no  wounds  which  he  cannot 
heal, — no  sorrows    which   he    cannot  cure, — no 
friends  whom   he  cannot   restore.     Return   still 
more,  my  brethren,  with  the  high  belief,  that,  to 
your  eyes,   the   great  veil  of  nature  is  rent  in 
twain  ;   that  to  you  is  opened  a  new  Heaven  and 
a  new  Earth  ;  a  scene  where  the  pilgrimage  of 
time  is  to  close,  where  all  the  kind  affections  of 
domestick   and  of  social  love  will  be  restored  ; 
where  from  every  pious  eye  the  hand  of  God  will 
wipe  away  eveiy  tear  that  it  has  slied,  and  where, 
in  the  great  conclusion  of  existence,  "  the  works 
^^  of  God  will   be  made  manifest  in  the  reign  of 
^•^  wisdom,  and  knowledge,  and  joy." 

And  may  the  God  of  all  consolation  go  along 
with  you  to  all  your  abodes  ; — may  the  Spirit 
that  proceedeth  from  him,  confirm  your  faith,  and 
strengthen  your  hope,  and  settle  your  submission  ! 
— and,  when  the  years  of  your  trial  and  your 
darkness  are  past,  may  your  eyes  open  upon  the 
Saviour  you  have  loved,  and  upon  the  friends 
you  have  lost ! 


SERMON  XXI. 


ON  THE  FAST,  FEBRUARY,  1811 


Romans  xii.  21. 
*•  Be  not  overcome  of  evil ;  but  overcome  evil  with  good." 

Again,  my  brethren,  we  are  assembled  by  the 
command  of  the  Throne,  in  one  of  tJie  most  s(demii 
of  our  religious  duties  ;  to  liumblc  ourselves  before 
the  God  of  the  universe,  and,  in  the  midst  of  na- 
tional calamity,  to  implore  His  blessing  upon  our 
councils  and  our  arms.  Year  follows  year,  but 
none  of  them  brings  with  it  any  promise  of  peace, 
or  any  pause  from  tlie  miseries  of  war ;  and  tlie 
wings  of  time,  heavily  as  they  pass  by  us,  are  still 
wet  with  human  tears,  and  still  drop  with  human 
blood. 

There  are  yet  more  striking  circumstances,  which 
the  hours  in  which  we  meet  bring  almost  involun- 
tarily into  our  remembrance. 

The  whole  Christian  world  are,  at  this  season, 
united  in  the  common  service  of  penitence  and 
meditation  j — the  gates  of  every  church  are  open 


*^ 


252  ON  THE  FAST,  1811. 

to  the  contrite  and  the  sorrowful ; — fiora  a  thou- 
sand languages,  one  uniform  voice  of  prayer  and 
of  repentance  reaches  the  ear  of  Heaven  ; — and  it 
is  in  this  sacred  season  tliat  ambition  is  preparing 
its  plans,  and  war  meditating  its  progress  ; — and 
that,  to  gratify  the  insatiable  avidities  of  conquest, 
every  guilt  and  every  wo  is  to  be  let  loose  upon 
the  unoffending  race  of  man,  and  ^^  the  earth  again 
*^  to  be  covered  with  violence  and  blood."  It  is 
at  this  season,  too,  that  the  spring  of  nature  is  re- 
turning; that  the  sun  is  rising  in  his  strength  ;  and 
that  the  breath  of  Heaven  is  blowing  to  awaken, 
over  the  universe,  all  the  various  family  of  its  love ; 
— and  it  is  at  this  beneficent  season,  that  man  is 
advancing  to  the  work  of  desolation ; — that  no 
sympathy  with  Heaven  softens  his  ruthless  heart ; 
— that  the  march  of  armies  is  to  tread  upon  all  the 
prodigality  of  Providence  ; — and  that  the  dark 
atrocity  of  ambition  relents  not  (while  it  calculates 
its  numbers)  at  the  thousands  of  human  souls  whom 
it  is  to  send,  ere  the  seasou  expires,  to  their  final 
and  their  unprepared  account. 

If,  of  such  miseries,  we,  my  brethren,  were  the 
authors  ; — if  it  was  our  ambition  or  injustice  which 
created  this  dark  catalogue  of  crime  ; — if  it  were 
the  dread  lusts  of  power,  or  of  wealth,  wliich  now 
unsheathed  the  sword  of  this  country,  whatever 
might  be  the  triumphs  that  the  vulgar  tongue  might 
tell,  or  the  vulgar  ear  receive,  the  language  of  this 
place  at  least,  must  ever  have  been  of  a  different 


ON  THB  FAST,  1811.  :2ia 

kind.  The  voice  of  the  Cxospel  mingles  with  hesi- 
tation with  the  voice  of  war,  and  when  the  avarice  oi* 
ambition  of  nations  sends  forth,  amid  a  peaceful 
world,  "  tlie  flame  of  the  sword,  and  tlie  lightning  of 
*^the  spear,' 'tlie  only  lanii;uage  in  which  religion  can 
express  itself,  is  tlie  plaintive,  but  awful  language 
of  the  prophet.  '"  Blow  the  trumpet  in  Zion,  sanc- 
"  tify  a  fast,  eall  a  solemn  assembly.  Gather  the 
^'  people  ;  sanctify  the  congregation  ;  assemble 
"  the  elders,  and  the  children,  and  they  that  sack 
'*  the  breast :  and  let  tlie  priests,  and  the  ministers 
"of  the  Lord,  weep  between  the  porch  and  the 
^^  altar,  and  let  them  say,  Spare  thy  people,  O 
^^Lord.  and  give  not  thy  heritage  to  reproach;"  and 
even,  while  the  world  was  resounding  with  the 
shonts  of  victory  and  of  triumph,  the  only  prayer 
which  religion  could  pronounce,  would  be  the 
nielanclioly  one  of  contrition  and  of  sorrow. 
"  Turn  thou  us,  O  God  of  goodness,  and  we  shall 
"be  turned.  Be  yet  favourable  to  thy  people, 
"  who  turn  to  thee  in  weeping,  and  fasting,  and 
"  prayer. — Turn  us,  O  God  of  hosts,  from  all  the 
"  evil  of  our  ways  ;  shew  the  light  of  thy  counte- 
"  nance,  and  we  shall  yet  be  whole." 

Tt  is,  however,  T  trust,  my  brethren,  under  very 
diferent  circumstances  that  we  are  now  assem- 
bled ;  and  that  it  is  with  a  less  trembling  voice, 
thit  we  may  now  present  our  prayers  unto  Heaven. 
Whatever  was  the  occasional  origin  of  that  war  in 
which  we  have  so  long  been  engaged  ; — whatever 


254  ON  THE  FAST,  1811, 

were  the  views  of  statesmen  or  of  legislators  ;-— 
whatever  even  may  have  been  the  errours  or  the 
guilt  of  its  conduct,  I  yet  trust  I  may  say,  that, 
upon  our  part,  upon  the  part  of  the  people  of  this 
country,  it  has  never  had  any  otlier  object  or  end 
than  that  of  justice  and  of  necessity.  It  lias  been 
a  war  which  we  souglit  not,  and  which  we  were 
unable  to  avoid  ;  a  war,  in  which  we  had  nothing 
to  acquire,  but  every  thing  to  preserve  ; — a  war, 
in  which  we  have  combated  not  for  wealtli,  or 
fame,  or  dominion,  butfor  independence,  for  liber- 
ty, and  for  existence ; — it  has  been  a  war,  (in  a 
higher  view)  in  which  we  have  combated,  not  only 
for  ourselves,  but  for  the  injured  and  the  oppress- 
ed of  every  people ;  in  which  we  have  forgot 
every  national  animosity  when  the  cry  of  tlieir 
misery  approached  us  ;  and  in  which  we  have  not 
hesitated  to  pour  the  best  blood  of  our  country, 
that  we  might  loose  the  bands  of  wickedness,  and 
^•^undo  the  heavy  burdens,  and  bid  the  oppressed 
"  go  free,"  and  break  the  iron  yoke  which  the 
arm  of  conquest  has  so  long  imposed  upon  a  pros- 
trate world. — It  has  been  a  war  (in  its  highest 
view)  of  moral  principle  against  immoral  power ; 
— in  which  we  have  combated  for  all  the  laws  of 
nature  and  of  humanity  ; — in  which  we  have  gone 
forth  as  the  champions  of  the  human  race ;  and 
shrunk  not  from  the  sacrifice  of  our  treasure  or 
our  blood,  that  we  might  stem  the  torrent  of  ini- 
quitous ambition,  and  restore  the  reign  of  freedom 


ON  THE  FAST,  1811.  25i» 

and  of  happiness  to  mankind.  These,  and  these 
alone,  have  been  the  objects  of  the  people  of  this 
country.  Amid  the  darkest  hours  which  the 
modern  world  has  seen,  they  have  felt  what  was 
due  to  themselves,  and  to  the  situation  in  which 
the  Providence  of  Heaven  has  placed  them  ; — 
they  have  felt  that  to  them,  and  to  them  only, 
was  committed  the  sacred  fire  of  truth  and  liber- 
ty ;— they  have  held  it  yet  (I  thank  God)  with  a 
firm  and  unwavering  hand  ;  and  they  will  still 
hold  it  (I  trust  in  his  Providence)  until  its  radi- 
ance shall  break  through  all  the  clouds  that  in- 
volve it,  and  restore  the  light  and  life  of  moral 
day  to  a  dark  and  to  a  suffering  world. 

In  such  circumstances,  my  brethren,  and  in 
such  a  contest,  the  language  of  this  place  ought 
not  to  be  that  of  despondence  or  of  fear.  The 
appropriate  language  is  that  of  the  apostle;  "be 
"  not  overcome  of  evil ;  but  overcome  evil  with 
«  good."  Be  satisfied,  that,  amid  the  sufferings 
and  the  calamities  of  nature,  the  same  guardian 
Providence  reigns,  as  amid  its  prosperities  and  its 
peace; — be  assured,  that  it  is  in  the  midst  of 
suffering  and  of  trial,  that  every  thing  that  is 
good,  and  every  thing  that  is  great  in  the  human 
mind,  is  awakened,  and  brought  forth  ; — be  con- 
fident that,  in  the  lofty  designs  of  Heaven,  evil 
shall  ever  be  overcome  with  good,  and  that,  in 
the  spirit  of  religious  faith,  there  is  a  "  might 
"  which  can  overcome  the  world,"  and  make  the 


256  ON  THE  FAST,  1811. 

mind  of  man  superiour  to  every  evil  that  can 
assail  liim.  Such  w?is  the  high  language  which 
the  apostle  used  to  the  early  Christians,  in  the 
disastrous  and  hopeless  days  of  their  weakness 
and  persecution.  The  doctrine  was  believed,  and 
the  prophecy  was  fulfilled.  They  met  the  evils 
of  their  days  with  the  faith  and  the  obedience  that 
became  them ; — their  meek  but  majestick  spirit 
overcame  the  world  that  persecuted  them  ; — 
and,  ere  long,  the  cross  of  their  Master  was 
raised,  upon  every  spot  where  the  martyr  had 
perished  in  the  flame. 

It  is  in  such  principles,  my  brethren,  and  in 
such  an  example,  that  we  best  can  learn  the  in- 
struction which  this  day  both  requires  and  aifords. 
However  diiferent  may  be  the  sufferings  or  the 
calamities  to  which  we  are  exposed,  nature,  and 
the  God  of  nature,  are  the  same  ;  and  if  we  have 
the  magnanimity  not  to  suffer  ourselves  ^^  to  be 
"  overcome  with  evil,"  we  may  trust  in  the  same 
Providence,  that  He  is  able  "  to  overcome  every 
*^evil  with  good.'' 

1.  Are  you  then  overcome,  my  brethren,  (in 
hours  of  calamity  like  the  present)  with  the  dread, 
that  the  affairs  of  men  are  left  to  chance  and 
time  ? — and  that,  in  the  hours  of  national  dis- 
tress, no  guardian  providence  is  present  ?  I  ask 
you  not  to  raise  your  eye  to  the  universe  which 
surrounds  you,  to  mark  that  silent  but  unceasing 
order,  "in  which  not  a  sparrow  falleth  to  the 


ON  THE  FAST,  1811.  25? 

«  ground,  without  the  knowledge"  of  him  that 
made  it; — I  ask  you  not  to  recal  to  yourselves  the 
history  of  revelation,  and  to  see,  from  the  cradle 
of  tlie  infant  world,  the  care  of  a  paternal  Deity 
unfoldins;  itself  with   increasing  and  progressive 
radiance ; — 1  ask  you  only  to  lay  your  hands 
U{)on    your    own     hearts, — to     ask     yourselves, 
whether  there  be  any  situation  of  difficulty  or  of 
calamity  that  can  happen  to  man,  which  has  not 
its  assigned  and  correspondent  duty  ? — whether 
there  be  any  exigency  of  private  or  of  publick 
li^e,  where  conscience  doth  not  follow  us? — and. 
whetlipv  there  be  any  scene  of  time  so  deserted 
and  so  dark,  where  the  inspiration  of  the  Almighty 
doth   not  tell   us,  what  He  demands,  and  what 
man  expects  of  us  ?    If  this  be  the  great  fact  of 
our  nature,  there  is  then  no  dominion  of  chance  ; 
— there  is  no  possible  situation  of  suffering  which 
is  not  foreseen  and  provided  (or.    In  the  presence 
of  conscience,  we  live  in  the  presence  of  Heaven  : 
— and  the  voice  which  speaks  to  man,  in  "  the 
"  still  small  voice''  of  his  own  heart,  is  the  same 
which  speaks    to   the  angel  and  the  archangel, 
from   amid    the   sapphire   blaze   of   the    eternal 
throne. 

2.  Are  you  overcome,  my  brethren,  in  another 
view,  in  the  usual  effeminacies  of  prosperity,  with 
the  fear  that  adversity  has  no  compensations ; 
and  that,  in  the  hours  of  hardship  and  of  trial, 
there  is  nothing  but  wretchedness  and  wo  ?  Rise 
33 


258  ON  THE  FAST,  1811. 

for  a  moment,  1  beseech  yon,  from  the  couch  of 
ignoble  pleasure,  and  look  with  the  eye  of  men 
upon  the  world  that  passes,  and  the  world  that 
has  passed  you.      It  has  many  scenes  to  shew 
you  of  greatness  and  of  glory  ; — scenes  where  your 
heai't  throbs  when  you  contemplate  the  capacities 
and  the  energies  of  your  nature;— and  where  you 
feel  that  man  is  "  indeed  but  a  little  lower  than 
^'  the  angels,"  and  that  his  nature  is  "  made  for 
^*  glory  and  for  honour."     What  then  are  those 
scenes  ? — and  where  is  it  that  your  eye  finds  with 
transport  the  examples  it  has   wished  ?  Is  it  not 
in  the  situations  of  suffering    and  of  hardship  ? 
—amid  the  scenes  where  every  base  and  selfish 
interest  was    forgot,   and   the    generous    bosom 
knew  no  motives  but  those  of  private  or  of  pub= 
lick  beneficence; — amid   the  scenes  where  even 
higher   motives   reigned, — and   where   the   saint 
and  the  martyr  disdained  the  cross  and  the  flame, 
to  execute  the  lofty  commission  which  Heaven 
had  assigned  them.      Where  is  it,  in  the  game 
manner,  that  your  regards  rest,  when  you  peruse 
the  annals  of  mankind  ?   Oh  !  not  upon  the  scenes 
of  affluence  and  prosperity  ; — not  upon  the  sun- 
shine  scenes   where    every  virtue   withers,   and 
every  energy  is  dissolved  ; — but  upon  the   dark 
and  stormy  scenes,  where  freedom  sprung,  and 
patriotism  glowed,  and  every  energy   of  nature 
was  called  forth,  and  all  the  noblest  passions  of 
the  human  bosom  were  awakened  ;  apd  where,  in 


ON  THE  FAST,  1811*  259 

the  midst  of  hardship  and  of  suffering,  a  deeper 
happiness  was  enjoyed,  than  ever  yet  fell  to  tlie  lot 
of  ease  and  of  security.  It  is  thus  that  evil  is  only 
the  minister  of  good  ; — it  is  thus  that,  even  in  its 
darkest  aspect,  the  chastisements  of  Heaven  are 
only  the  chastisements  of  a  father  ;  and  that,  amid 
the  tears  and  the  sufferings  of  his  children,  they  are 
hardened  only  to  the  vigour  and  to  the  majesty  of 
manhood. 

3.  Are  you  overcome,  in  the  last  view,  my 
brethren,  with  the  fear  that  evil  has  attained  its 
dominion  ?  that  the  present  calamities  of  time  are 
incapable  of  remedy  ;  and  that  the  world  is  sink- 
ing into  age  and  degeneracy  ?  Look,  my  brethren 
of  little  faith,  at  the  material  world  around  you, 
and  say,  has  its  order,  and  the  beneficence  of  its 
order  failed  ? — have  storms  or  tempests  quenched 
the  light  of  day  ? — have  seed-time  and  harvest  for- 
got to  return  ? — and  has  the  sun  of  Heaven  become 
wearied  in  his  path,  and  ceased  to  pour  life  and 
light^upon  a  grateful  world  ?  Look  to  the  history 
of  the  moral  world,  from  its  first  fee  hie  and  barba- 
rous cradle,  to  the  hour  in  which  it  now  resounds 
with  the  tread  of  hostile  men,  and  say,  has  evil 
alone  had  the  dominion  there  ? — has  nothing  but 
the  guilt  of  the  tyrant  and  the  conqueror  been  suc- 
cessful ? — has  no  progress  been  made  in  this  long 
period,  in  knowledge,  in  arts,  or  in  arms  ? — has 
the  cause  of  truth,  of  virtue,  and  of  freedom  never 
been  victorious? — and  has  the  historian  of  the  hu- 


260  ON  THE  FAST,  1811. 

man  race  only  to  record  the  pro,^resfiive  decay  of 
its  powers,  its  knowledge,  and  its  welfare? — No, 
my  brethren,  in  the  whole  of  this  review,  you  see, 
on  the  contrary,  that  there  is  a  power  in  nature,  by 
which  evil  of  every  kind  is  controUed :  and  that, 
under  its  Almighty  guidance,  amid  a! i  the  appa- 
rent calamities  of  time,  the  march  of  the  human 
mind  has  been  steady  and  progressive,  to  "  wis- 
"  dom,  and  knowledge,  and  joy."  You  see  the 
occasional  visitations  of  war  and  of  calamity  o[ie- 
rating  upon  the  moral  world,  like  the  occasional 
visitations  of  the  storm  and  the  tempest  upon  the 
material  world  ;  and  ending  in  purifying  the  moral 
atmosphere,  and  invigorating  the  powers  of  moral 
vegetation.  From  amid  all  the  temporary  depres- 
sions of  the  human  race,  you  see  them  permanent- 
ly emerging  into  firmer  power,  and  more  enlight- 
ened splendour; — the  harvest  of  the  husbandman 
waving  over  the  field  which  conquest  had  wet  with 
the  blood  of  his  fathers  ;  the  hand  of  the  freeman 
pointing  witli  exultation  to  the  mouldering  tomb 
TV  here  the  race  of  his  tyrants  and  his  oppressors 
repose ; — and  the  voice  of  the  Gospel  carrying  glad 
tidings  to  many  a  people  who  had  ^'  long  sat  in 
^^  darkness,  and  beneath  the  shadow  of  death," 
"  There  have  been  many  devices  in  the  heart  of 
^^  man  ;  but  the  counsel  of  God  hath  stood,  and 
"  will  stand  for  ever." 

If  such,  my  brethren,  be  the  magnificent  system 
in  which  we  live ;  if  there  be  a  moral  power  in  na- 


ON  THE  FAST,  1811.  261 

ture,  which  makes  evil  only  the  minister  of  his 
will,  and  which  is  able  to  "  overcome  every  evil 
"  with  good,"  it  is  in  elevating  ourselves  to  confi- 
dence in  this  mighty  system,  that  we  best  can  dis- 
charge the  duties  of  this  day. 

We  have  long  enjoyed  all  the  blessings  of  na- 
tional prosperity ;  and  it  has  been  "  in  secure 
"  habitations,  and  amid  quiet  resting  places,"  that 
the  Providence  of  Heaven  has  given  us,  for  a  long 
time,  our  repose.  We  are  now  summoned  to  se- 
verer duties,  and  are  to  meet  with  darkir  scenes. 
The  Sovereign  of  the  universe  hath  called  us  to 
the  noblest  office  which  he  accords  to  the  ministra- 
tion of  men,  to  be  the  guardians  of  human  nature, 
and  of  human  welfare.  To  our  care  he  hath  com- 
mitted the  present  fortunes  of  tiie  moral  world  ; 
and  whether  they  are  to  expire  beneath  the  grasp 
of  ambition,  or  to  waken  again  to  life  and  liberty, 
seems  now  to  depend  upon  the  wisdom  of  our 
councils,  and  the  valour  of  our  arms. 

There  is  something,  my  brethren,  ever  anima- 
ting to  the  human  heart  in  the  approach  of  great 
duties ;  but  there  is  something  still  more  animating 
in  the  approach  of  those  loftier  duties  to  which  we 
are  summoned  by  the  voice  of  Heaven  ;  when  we 
are  called  to  march  beneath  the  banners  of  Provi- 
dence ;  and  when  we  feel  ourselves  acting  as  the 
ministers  of  its  will  in  the  improvement  or  renova- 
tion of  the  world.  It  is  in  the  belief  of  this  lofty 
commission,  that  the  inhabitants  of  this  country 


262  ON  THE  FAST,  1811. 

should  on  this  day  be  assembled. — It  is  in  the 
prayer  for  assistance  to  execute  it,  that  the  hours 
of  this  day  should  be  employed  ;  and,  heavy  as 
the  darkness  may  be  which  hangs  upon  the  future, 
it  is  in  firm  reliance  upon  the  wisdom  and  benevo- 
lence of  Him  who  leads  us,  that  we  should  rise 
from  our  knees,  and  advance  undaunted  into  the 
darkness  and  the  dangers  that  may  await  us.  Even 
if  we  perish  in  such  a  cause,  we  shall  at  least  perish 
with  glory,  and  in  the  field  of  our  duty.  The 
sound  of  our  fall  will  waken  from  their  slumber  the 
prostrate  nations  that  surround  us  ;  and  from  our 
ashes  the  breath  of  Heaven  will  kindle,  in  some 
future  day,  that  avenging  flame,  which  is  destined 
to  penetrate,  and  to  purify  the  Avorld. 

If  such  then  be  the  auspices  under  which  we 
advance, — if  such  be  the  ends  we  pursue, —  let  not 
the  heart  of  this  country  shrink  from  the  dangers 
to  which  it  is  still  exposed,  or  from  the  hardships 
it  may  be  yet  doomed  to  endure.  Every  thing  that 
is  animating, — every  thing  that  is  commanding  in 
nature,  are  with  us.  The  Providence  of  Heaven 
calls  us,  not  only  "  not  to  be  overcome  with  evil, 
^*  but  to  overcome  it  with  good."  The  shades  of 
our  ancestors  beckon  us  to  follow  them  in  the  path 
of  freedom  and  of  honour  ; — the  uplifted  hands  of 
nations  implore  us  to  free  tliem  from  their  chains, 
and  to  restore  them  to  the  liberty  and  the  dignity  of 
man.  In  so  high  a  contest,  be  the  struggles  or  the 
hardships  that  are  to  await  us  what  they  may,  there 


ON  THE  FAST,  1811.  263 

is  yet  glory  ia  encountering  tliem  ;  and  I  trust, 
that,  even  at  this  hour,  there  is  not  one  British 
heart  that  would  exchange  the  perilous  but  majes- 
tirk  attitude  in  which  his  country  stands,  for  the 
liollow  security  of  any  insidious  peace,  or  the  base 
tranquillity  of  ignominious  submission. 

Nor  is  it  to  be  forgotten,  my  brethren,  in  our 
calculations  of  the  future,  that  there  is  an  advantage 
which  vice  itself  ever  gives  to  the  virtue  which 
opposes  it ;  and  that  the  elTorts  of  guilt  to  defend 
itself,  are  ever  destined,  by  the  benevolent  laws  of 
our  nature,  to  add  to  its  crimes  and  its  dangers. 
In  the  history  of  the  dark  and  tremendous  power 
that  opposes  us,  who  is  there  that  has  not  read  this 
awful  progress  ?  The  mask  of  hypocrisy  has  long 
fallen  ; — the  features,  the  well-known  features,  of 
tyranny  are  descried  even  by  the  slaves  who  serve 
it ; — and  the  weight  of  military  despotism  sinks 
every  hour  with  heavier  pressure  upon  the  people 
themselves  that  created  it.  Year  after  year,  iu 
that  great  but  wretched  country,  either  takes  some- 
thing from  the  happiness  of  private  life,  or  adds 
something  to  publick  suffering.  All  that  once 
distinguished  it  is  gone  ; — the  gay  and  harmless 
intercourse  of  social  life  is  forbidden ; — the  voice 
of  publick  information  or  instruction  is  silenced ; 
'- — the  spy  and  the  informer  glide  into  the  sacred 
privacies  of  domestick  confidence ; — and  from  the 
arms  of  the  mother,  the  children  of  her  love  or  of 
ter  widowhood  are  torn,  that  they  may  swell  the 


264  ON  THE  FAST,  1811. 

ra.iiks  of  armies,  whose  banners  she  dare  not  fol- 
low with  her  prayers.  Within  these  few  months, 
ray  bretliren,  a  new  and  more  gigantick  step  has 
been  marie.  The  commerce  of  the  world  is  to  be 
susnended  : — 'he  proij;ress  of  every  nation  to 
wealth  and  to  independence  is  to  be  stopt ; — the 
projects  of  insane  ambition  are  to  be  pursued,  not 
by  the  bravery  with  which  its  armies  can  act,  but 
by  the  tameness  with  which  its  subjects  can  suf- 
fer;— and  the  world  around  is  to  return  to  a  wil- 
derness,  that  one  impious  throne  may  be  establish* 
ed  upon  the  ruins  of  all  the  former  honours  of- 
liuma?>Hy.* 

There  is  a  limit,  my  brethren,  to  human  suffer- 
ance, and  there  is  an  hour  in  oppression,  when 
resolution  springs  from  despair.  To  that  hour, 
to  tha'  avenging  hour,  time  and  nature  are  ap- 
preaching,  i'  The  cup  of  bitterness  is  full,  and 
^^  there  is  a  drop  which  will  make  it  overflow." 
Unmarked  as  it  may  be,  amid  the  blaze  of  mili- 
tary glory,  the  dread  hand  is  yet  "  writing  on  the 
"  wall"  the  sentence  of  its  doom ;  and  however 
late  may  be  its  arrival,  the  hour  is  yet  steadily 
approaching,  when  ^^evil  will  be  overcome  with 
"  ^ood  ;" — and  when  the  life  blood  of  an  injured 
world  will  collect  at  the  heart,  and,  by  one  con- 
vulsive eifort,  throw  off  the  load  that  has  oppress- 
ed it. 

*  The  "  Continental  System"  was  now  in  fore?. 


ON  THE  FAST,  1811.  26o 

While  these  are  the  dark  and  ominous  scenes 
that  are  passing  around  us,  there  is,  to  the  people 
of  this  country,  in  the  present  hour,  a  spectacle 
presented  l)y  the  beneficence  of  Heaven,  of  a  very 
diiferent  kind.  The  clouds  that  so  long  have 
hung  around  the  throne  have  dissolved  ; — the 
prayers  of  a  loyal  people  have  been  heard  ; — and 
our  aged  sovereign  again  comes  forward  from  be- 
hind the  veil  of  misfortune,  to  ascend  his  ancient 
throne,  and  to  meet  that  glad  acclaim,  which  but 
lately  placed  the  crown  of  patriot  glory  upon  his 
grey  hairs,  and  which  the  ear  of  the  tyrant  and 
the  despot  is  never  destined  to  know. 

May  it  be  the  omen  of  better  days !  With  him 
may  the  reign  of  order,  of  justice,  and  of  freedom 
return  among  mankind  !  May  the  last  years  of 
his  reign  experience  again  all  the  glory  and  pros- 
perity in  which  it  began :  And  may  his  paternal 
eyes  not  close  for  ever,  until  he  sees  that  his  peo- 
ple CANNOT  be  overcome;  but  that,  in  the  spirit 
of  their  country  and  their  faith,  they  are  able  to 
^'  overcome  evil  with  good.'^ 


34 


SERMON   XX. 

ON  WINTER,  AS  THE  SEASON  OF  SOCIAL  AMUSEMENT. 

Psalm  Ixxxiv.  5,  6- 

"  Blessed  are  tJie  men,  who  going  through  the  vale  of  misery,  use  it 
for  a  well ;  and  the  pools  are  filled  with  water." 

The  words  of  the  text  contain,  in  tlieir  moral 
view,  one  of  the  most  beautiful  allusions  which  is  to 
be  found  even  in  the  sacred  poetry  of  the  Psalmist. 
They  allude  to  that  similitude,  so  natural  to  an 
eastern  imagination,  of  the  course  of  human  life  to 
a  journey  through  the  sandy  desert ; — and  they 
represent  the  scenes  of  joy  and  amusement  with 
which  life  is  interspersed,  ^^  as  the  green  vales  of 
^'  the  desert,  in  whicli  water  springs,"  and  where 
the  weary  traveller  may  find  a  temporary  repose. 
But  they  represent  still  more  beautifully,  in  their 
moral  view,  what  is  the  duty  of  that  traveller ; — 
not  to  linger  around  these  fountains  of  ease  and 
joy,  but  to  use  them  only  as  for  a  well,  to  revive 
his   exhausted   strength, — to  invigorate  his  pur- 


ON  WINTER,  &c.  267 

posed  resolutious, — and  to  send  liim  forward 
"  renewed  iu  his  mind,''  on  his  great  journey  to 
the  promised  land. 

I  am  led,  my  brethren,  to  this  application  of  the 
beautiful  allusion  in  the  text,  by  the  circumstances 
of  the  time  in  which  we  meet. — AYhile  the  annual 
season  of  education  and  business  has  begun,  there 
has, at  the  same  time,  still  more  lately,  begun  among 
lis  the  annual  season  of  pleasure  and  amusement. 
The  young,  the  gay,  and  the  opulent,  are  now 
preparing  to  enliven  the  winter  of  our  year  with 
artificial  joys,  and  are  looking  forward  to  days  of 
social  mirth,  and  innocent  festivity.  It  is  a  mo- 
ment which  a  benevolent  mind  cannot  look  to 
"without  a  kind  of  melancholy  interest.  Even  in. 
the  midst  of  his  sympathy  with  the  mirth  of  the 
innocent  and  the  young,  his  heart  will  be  sad  with 
the  memory  of  former  days ; — when  he  remembers 
those,  now  lost  to  fame,  to  honour,  and  to  happi- 
ness,  who  once  entered  life  with  hearts  as  gay, 
and  minds  as  innocent ; — and  when  he  thinks, 
that,  in  the  bright  circle  of  those  he  sees,  there 
will,  too  surely,  be  some,  whom  tiiis  season  of 
gayety  will  lead  to  errour  and  to  folly,  and  who 
will  live  one  day  to  curse  their  fiital  entrance  upon 
that  scene  which  now  they  think  prodigal  only  of 
joy  and  happiness.  It  is  under  this  impression 
that  r  now  wish  to  submit  to  the  young  of  our 
congregation,  some  very  simple  observations  ;  and 
ere  they  advance  upon  the  road  even  of  innocent 


268  ON  WINTEH, 

amuseraent,  to  lay  before  them  some  of  the  dan- 
gers which  await  the  inordinate  love  of  it. 

1.  It  were  unjust  and  ungrateful  to  conceive 
that  the  amusements  of  life  are  altogether  forbid 
by  its  beneficent  Author.  They  serve,  on  the  con- 
trary, important  purposes  in  the  economy  of  human 
life,  and  are  destined  to  produce  irapoi'tant  effects, 
both  upon  our  happiness  and  character.  They 
are,  in  the  first  place,  in  tiie  language  of  the 
Psalmist,  ^^  the  wells  of  the  desert ;"  the  kind 
resting-places  in  which  toil  may  relax,  in  which 
the  weary  spirit  may  recover  its  tone,  and  where 
the  desponding  mind  may  reassume  its  strength 
and  its  hopes. — They  are,  in  another  view,  of 
some  importance  to  the  dignity  of  individual  cha- 
racter. In  every  thing  we  call  amusement,  there 
is  generally  some  display  of  taste  and  of  imagina- 
tion,— some  elevation  of  the  mind  from  mere  ani- 
mal indulgence,  or  the  baseness  of  sensual  desire. 
Even  in  the  scenes  of  relaxation,  therefore,  they 
have  a  tendency  to  preserve  the  dignity  of  human 
character,  and  to  fill  up  the  vacant  and  unguarded 
hours  of  life  with  occupations  innocent  at  least,  if 
not  virtuous.  But  their  principal  effect,  perhaps, 
is  upon  the  social  character  of  man.  Whenever 
amusement  is  sought,  it  is  in  the  society  of  our 
brethren  ;  and  whenever  it  is  found,  it  is  in  our 
sympathy  with  the  happiness  of  those  around  us. 
It  bespeaks  the  disposition  of  benevolence,  and  it 
creates  it.     When  men  assemble,  accordingly,  for 


AS  A  SEASON  OF  AMUSExMENT.  269 

the  purpose  of  general  happiness  or  joy,  tliey  ex- 
hibit to  the  tlioughtful  eye,  one  of  the  most  pleas- 
ing appearances  of  their  original  character.  They 
leave  behind  tliem,  for  a  time,  the  faults  of  their 
station  and  the  asperities  of  their  temper  ; — they 
forget  the  secret  views,  and  the  selfish  purposes  of 
their  ordinary  life,  and  mingle  with  tlic  crowd 
around  them  with  no  other  view  than  to  receive 
and  to  communicate  happiness.  It  is  a  spectacle 
which  it  is  impossible  to  observe  without  emotion  ; 
and,  while  the  virtuous  man  rejoices  at  that  evi- 
dence which  it  affords  of  the  benevolent  constitu- 
tion of  his  nature,  the  pious  man  is  apt  to  bless  the 
benevolence  of  that  God,  who  thus  makes  the  wil- 
derness and  the  solitary  place  be  glad,  and  whose 
wisdom  renders  even  the  hours  of  amusement  sub- 
servient to  the  cause  of  virtue. 

S.  It  is  not,  therefore,  my  brethren,  the  use  of 
the  innocent  amusements  of  life  which  is  danger- 
ous, but  the  abuse  of  them  ; — it  is  not  when  they 
are  occasionally,  but  when  they  are  constantly 
pursued  ;  when  the  love  of  amusement  degene- 
rates into  a  passion,  and  when,  from  being  an  oc- 
casional indulgence,  it  becomes  a  habitual  desire. 
What  the  consequences  of  this  inordinate  love  of 
amusement  are,  I  shall  now  endeavour  very  briefly 
to  shew  you. 

When  we  look,  in  a  moral  view,  to  the  ctmse- 
quences  of  human  pursuits,  we  are  not  to  stop  at 
the  precise  aud  immediate  effects  which  they  may 


270  ON  WINTER, 

seem  to  have  upon  character.  It  is  chiefly  I  y  the 
general  frame  of  mind  they  produce,  and  the  habi- 
tual dispositions  they  create,  that  we  are  to  deter- 
mine whether  their  influence  is  fortunate  or  unfor- 
tunate on  those  who  are  engaged  in  them.  Jn 
every  pursuit,  whatever  gives  strength  and  energy 
to  the  mind  of  man,  experience  teaches  to  he  fa- 
vourable to  the  interests  of  piety,  of  knowledge,  and 
virtue ; — in  every  pursuit,  on  the  contrary,  what- 
ever enfeebles  or  limits  the  powers  of  mind,  the 
same  experience  every  where  shews  to  be  hostile 
to  the  best  interests  of  human  nature. 

If  it  is  in  this  view  we  consider  the  effects  of  the 
habitual  love  even  of  the  most  innocent  amusement, 
we  shall  find  that  it  produces  necessarily,  for  the 
hour  in  which  it  is  indulged,  an  enfeebled  and 
dependent  frame  of  mind  ;  that  in  such  scenes 
energy  resolves,  and  resolution  fades  ; — that  in  the 
enjoyment  of  the  present  hour,  the  past  and  the 
future  are  alike  forgotten ;  and  that  the  heart  learns 
to  be  satisfied  with  passive  emotion,  and  momen- 
tary pleasure. 

It  is  to  this  single  observation,  my  young  friends, 
that  I  wish  at  present  to  <lirect  your  attention  ;  and 
to  entreat  you  to  consider  what  may  be  ex|  ected 
to  be  the  effects  of  such  a  character  of  mind,  at 
your  age,  upon  the  honour  and  happiness  of  future 
life. 

1.  It  tends  to  degrade  all  the  powers  of  the  un- 
derstanding.    It  is  the  eternal  law  of  nature  that 


AS  A  SEASON  OF  AMUSEMENT,  271 

truth  and  wisdom  arc  the  offspring  of  labour,  of 
vigour,  and  perseverance  in  every  worthy  object 
of  pursuit.  The  eminent  stations  of  fame,  accord- 
ingly, aud  the  distinguished  honours  of  knowledge 
have,  in  every  age,  been  tlic  reward  only  of  such 
early  attainments,  of  that  clierislied  elevation  of 
mind  which  pursues  only  magnificent  ends,  and  of 
tliat  heroick  fortitude  which,  whether  in  action  or 
in  speculation,  pursues  them  by  the  means  of  unde- 
viating  exertion.  For  the  production  of  such  a 
character,  no  discipline  can  be  so  unlit  as  that  of 
the  habitual  love  of  amusement.  It  kindles  not  the 
eye  of  ambition  ; — it  bids  the  heart  beat  w  ith  no 
throb  of  generous  admiration  ; — it  lets  the  soul  be 
calm,  Avliile  all  the  rest  of  our  fellows  are  passing 
us  in  the  road  of  virtue  or  of  science.  Satisfied 
with  humble  and  momentary  enjoyment,  it  aspires 
to  no  honour,  no  praise,  no  pre-eminence,  and,  con- 
tented with  the  idle  gratification  of  the  present 
hour,  forgets  alike  what  man  has  done,  and  what 
man  was  born  to  do. 

If  such  be  the  character  of  the  youthful  mind,  if 
it  be  with  such  aims  and  such  ambition  that  its 
natural  elevation  can  be  satisfied,  am  I  to  ask  you, 
my  brethren,  what  must  be  the  appearances  of 
riper  years  ? — what  the  effect  of  such  habits  of 
thought  upon  the  understanding  of  manhood  ?  Alas ! 
a  greater  instructer,  the  mighty  instructer,  expe- 
rience, may  shew  you  in  every  rank  of  life  what 
these  effects   are. — ^It  will  shew  you  men  born 


272  ON  WINTER, 

with  every  capacity,  and  whose  first  years  glow- 
ed with  every  honourable  ambition,  whom  no 
vice  even  now  degrades,  and  to  whom  no  actual 
guilt  is  aflBxed,  who  yet  live  in  the  eye  of  the 
world  only  as  the  objects  of  pity  or  of  scorn, — 
who,  in  the  idle  career  of  habitual  amusement, 
have  dissipated  all  their  powers,  and  lost  all  their 
ambition, — and  who  exist  now  for  no  purpose,  but 
to  be  the  sad  memorials  of  ignoble  taste  and  de- 
graded understanding. 

2.  The  inordinate  love  of  pleasure  is,  in  the 
second  place,  equally  hostile  to  the  moral  character. 
If  the  feeble  and  passive  disposition  of  mind  which 
it  produces  be  unfavourable  to  the  exertions  of  the 
understanding,  it  is,  in  the  same  measure  as  un- 
favourable to  the  best  employments  of  the  heart. 
The  great  duties  of  life,  the  duties  for  which  every 
man  and  woman  is  born,  demand,  in  all  situations, 
the  mind  of  labour  and  perseverance.  From  the 
first  hour  of  existence  to  the  last, — from  the  cradle 
of  the  infant,  beside  which  the  mother  watches 
with  unslumbering  eye,  to  the  grave  of  the  aged, 
where  the  son  pours  his  last  tears  upon  the  bier 
of  his  father, — in  all  that  intermediate  time,  every 
day  calls  for  exertion  and  activity,  and  the  moral 
honours  of  our  being  can  only  be  won  by  the  stead- 
fast magnanimity  of  pious  duty.  If  such  be  the 
laborious  but  animating  destiny  of  man,  is  it,  my 
brethren,  in  the  enervating  school  of  habitual 
amusement,  that  the  young  are  to  fit  themselves 


AS  A  SEASON  OF  AMUSEMENT.  SrS 

for  its  high  discharge  ?  Is  it  from  hence  that  the 
legislator  is  to  learn  those  lengthened  toils  which 
decide  the  liappiness  of  nations ;  or  the  warriour, 
that  undaunted  spirit,  which  can  scorn  both  dan- 
ger and  death  in  the  defence  of  his  country  ?  Or 
is  it  here,  my  young  friends,  that  experience  tells 
you,  you  can  best  learn  to  perform  the  com- 
mon duties  of  your  coming  days  ;  those  sacred 
duties  of  doraestick  life  which  every  one  is  called 
to  discharge,  from  which  neither  riches  nor  pover- 
ty are  free,  and  which,  far  more  than  all  others, 
open  to  you  the  solemn  prospect  of  either  being 
the  blessings  or  the  curses  of  society.  Alas  !  ex- 
perience has  here  also  decided ;  it  tells  you,  that 
the  mind  which  exists  only  for  pleasure,  cannot 
exist  for  duty ; — it  tells  you,  that  the  feeble  and 
selfish  spirit  of  amusement  gradually  corrodes  all 
the  benevolent  emotions  of  the  heart,  and  withers 
the  most  sacred  ties  of  domestick  affection ; — and 
it  points  its  awful  finger  to  the  examples  of  those, 
alas  !  of  both  sexes,  whom  the  unrestrained  love 
of  idle  pleasure  first  led  to  errour  and  folly,  and 
whom,  with  sure  but  fatal  progress,  it  has  since 
conducted  to  be  the  objects  of  secret  shame,  and 
publick  infamy. 

3.  In  the  last  place,  this  unmanly  disposition 
is  equally  fatal  to  happiness  as  to  virtue.  It  is 
this  which  is  so  beautifully  expressed  in  tlie  con- 
isluding  words  of  the  text.     "  Blessed  are  they, 

^  who,  going  through  the  vale  of  misery,  use  it  for 
3/5 


274  ON  WINTER, 

"  a  well ;  and   the  pools  are  filled   with  water.'^ 
It  means  obviously,  that  to  the  wise  and  virtuous, 
to   those  who  use  the  pleasures  of  life  only  as  a 
temporary  relaxation,  as  a  resting-place  to  animate 
them  on  the  great  journey  on  which  they  are  trav- 
elling, the  hours  of  amusement  bring  real  pleasure  ; 
that  to  them  the  well  of  joy  is  ever  full,  while  to 
those  who  linger  by  its   side,  its  waters   are  soon 
dried  and  exhausted.     It  is    an   observation,  the 
truth  of  which  every  one  must  perceive  and  feel. 
I  speak  not  now  of  those  bitter  waters  which  must 
mingle  themselves  with  the  well  of  unhallowed 
pleasure, — of  the  secret   reproaches  of  accusing 
conscience, — of  the  sad   sense  of  shame   and  dis- 
honour,— ^and  of  that  degraded  spirit,  which  must 
bend  itself  beneath  the  scorn  of  the   world ; — I 
speak  only  of  the  simple  and  natural  effect  of  un- 
wise indulgence; — that  it  renders  the  mind  callous 
to  enjoyment ; — and  that,  even  though  the  '^  foun- 
'^  tain  were  full  of  water,"  the  feverish  lip  is  inca- 
pable  of  satiating  its  thirst.     Alas  !    here  too,  my 
brethren,  we  may  see  the  examples  of  human  folly; 
— we  may  see  around  us  every  where  the  fatal  effects  . 
of  unrestrained  pleasure, — the  young  sickening  m 
the  midst  of  every  pure  and  genuine  enjoyment ; — 
the  mature  hastening,  with  hopeless  step,  to  fill  up 
the  hours  of  a  vitiated  being ; — and,  what  is  still 
more  wretched,  the  hoary  head  wandering  in  the 
way  of  folly,  and,  with  an  unhallowed  dotage,  re- 
turning again  to  the  trifles  and  the  amusements  of 
childhood, 


Va  A  SEASON  OF  AMUSEMENT.  27^ 

Such  then,  my  young  friends,  arc  the  natural 
and  experienced  consequences  of  the  inordinate 
love  even  of  innocent  amusement,  and  such  the 
intellectual  aiul  moral  degradation  to  whicli  the 
paths  of  pleasure  conduct.  On  that  path  you  are 
now  entering, — the  season  opens  to  you  many  va- 
rious sources  of  enjoyment, — and  many  a  siren 
voice  is  prepared  to  invite  you  to  indulgence  and 
joy.  At  such  a  time,  let  me  entreat  you  to  pause, 
ere  you  begin  your  course ;  ere  those  habits  are 
acquired  which  may  never  again  be  subdued  ; — 
and  ere  ye  permit  the  charms  of  pleasure  to  wind 
around  your  soul  their  fascinating  powers. 

Think,  with  the  elevation  and  generosity  of 
your  age,  whether  this  is  the  course  tliat  leads  to 
honour  or  to  fame  ; — whether  it  was  in  this  disci- 
pline that  they  were  exercised,  who,  in  every  age, 
have  blessed,  or  have  enlightened  the  world, — 
whose  shades  are  present  to  your  midnight 
thoughts,— and  whose  names  you  cannot  pronounce 
without  the  tear  of  gratitude  or  admiration. 

Think,  still  more,  whether  it  was  to  the  ends  of 
unmanly  pleasure  that  you  were  dedicated,  when 
the  solemn  service  of  religion  first  enrolled  you  in 
the  number  of  the  faithful,  and  wiien  the  ardent 
tears  of  your  parents  mingled  with  the  waters  of 
your  baptism.  If  they  live,  is  it  in  such  paths 
that  their  anxious  eyes  delight  to  see  you  tread  ? — 
If  they  are  no  more,  is  it  on  such  scenes  that  they 
can  bend  their  venerated  heads  from  Heaven,  and 
rejoice  iu  the  course  of  their  cUildren  ? 


27b  ON  WINTER,  &(?. 

But,  far  more  than  all,  think,  my  young  friendS; 
on  your  entrance  upon  time's  eventful  journey, 
whether  it  was  to  pursue  the  course  of  an  idle,  a 
selfish,  and  an  inglorious  life,  that  you  were  crea- 
ted "  in  the  image  of  God," — and  that  the  inspira- 
tioft  of  the  Almighty  himself  gave  you  understand- 
ing?— whether  this  was  the  course  which  the 
Saviour  of  the  world  pursued,  and  on  which  he 
hath  called  you  "  to  follow  him  ?" — and  whether 
this  is  the  character  of  those  "  spirits  made  per- 
**  feet,"  who,  after  having  finished  the,  journey 
ttpon  which  you  are  now  entering,  ^*  stand  before 
*^  the  throne  of  that  God  for  ever  ?'' 


SERMON   XXI. 

Off  WINTER,  AS  THE  SEASON  OF  RELIGIOUS  THOUGHT. 

Psalm  Ixxiv.  1 7. 
"  Thou  hast  made  summer  and  winter." 

Upon  a  former  occasion,  I  addressed  myself  to 
the  young  of  our  congregation,  in  reference  to  that 
season  of  amusement  which  winter  generally 
brings ;  and  I  endeavoured  to  explain  to  them 
some  of  those  dangers  to  which  the  unrestrained 
love  even  of  innocent  amusement  naturally  leads, 
and  what  are  the  melancholy  effects  which  it  too 
frequently  has,  both  upon  their  future  conduct 
and  happiness. 

There  are  many  others,  however,  to  whom  win- 
ter arrives,  beside  the  young  and  the  gay ; — there 
are  other  sentiments  than  those  of  joy,  with  which 
the  hearts  of  many  meet  its  approach  ;  and  thera 
are  higher  instructions  which  it  is  fitted  to  give, 
than  those  which  youth  alone  can  derive  from  it. 
It  is  to  this  description  of  our  congregation,  to  the 
serious,  th©  thoughtful,  and  the  mature,  that  I  now 


278  ON  WINTER  AS  A  SEASON 

wish,  for  a  few  moments,  to  address  myself;  to 
shew  them  what  are  the  lessons  which  they  may 
draw  from  tlie  appearances  they  witness,  and  to 
suggest  to  them  some  of  those  reflections  which 
ihe  season  naturally  awakens,  and  which  it  would 
be  wise  in  us  all  to  render  familiar  to  our  minds. 

I  have  before  had  occasion  to   observe,   that, 
while  the  great  end  of  the  variation  of  seasons  is 
the  support  and  maintenance  of  the  material  world 
to  which  we  belong,  it  has  yet  also   an  indirect 
eifect  in  the   moral    and  religious   instruction  of 
man ;  and  that,  by  this  silent  means,  ^'  day  unto 
^*  day  uttereth  unto  him  speech,  and  night  unto 
"''  night  teacheth   him   knowledge."     There  are 
emotions  which  every  where  characterize  the  dif- 
ferent seasons  of  the  year.     In  its  progress,  the 
savage  is  led,  as  well  as  the  sage,  to  see  the  vary- 
ing attributes  of  the  Divine  Mind  ; — and,  in  its 
magnificent  circle,  it  is  fitted  to  awaken  in  succes- 
sion, the  loftiest  sentiments  of  piety  which  the 
heart  can  feel.     When    spring   appears, — when 
the  earth  is  covered  with  its  tender  green,  and  the 
song  of  happiness  is  heard  in  every  shade,  it  is  a 
call  to  us  to  religious  Hope  and  Joy.     Over  the 
infant  year,  the  breath  of  Heaven  seems  to  blow 
with  paternal   softness,  and  the  heart  of  man  wil- 
lingly participates  in  the  joyfulness  of  awakened 
nature.    When  summer  reigns,  and  every  element 
is  filled  with  life,  and  the  sun  like  a  giant  pursues 
hie  course  through  the  fiirmament  above,  it  is  th« 


OP  RELIGIOUS  THOUGHT.  27 » 

season  of  solemn  Adoration  ; — wc  see  then,  as  it 
were,  the  majesty  of  the  present  (xod ; — and 
"Wherever  we  direct  our  eye,  ''  the  glory  of  the 
^'  Lord  seems  to  cover  the  earth,  as  the  waters 
"  cover  the  sea."  When  autumn  comes,  and  the 
annual  miracle  of  nature  is  completed  ; — "  when 
"  all  things  that  exist  have  waited  upon  the  God 
"  which  made  them,  and  he  hath  given  them  food 
*^  in  due  season,''  it  is  the  appropriate  season  of 
Thankfulness  and  Praise.  The  heart  bends  with 
instinctive  gratitude  before  him  whose  beneficence 
''  neither  slumbers  nor  sleeps,"  and  who,  from  the 
throne  of  glory,  "  yet  remembereth  the  things  that 
"  are  in  Heaven  and  Earth." 

The  season  of  Winter  has  also  similar  instruc- 
tions ; — to  the  thoughtful  and  the  feeling  mind  it 
comes  not  without  a  blessing  upon  its  wings ; — 
and  perhaps  the  noblest  lessons  of  religion  are  to 
be  learnt  amid  its  clouds  and  storms. 

1.  It  is,  in  the  first  place,  a  season  of  solemnity, 
and  the  aspect  of  every  thing  around  us  is  fitted  to 
call  the  mind  to  deep  and  serious  thought.  The 
gay  variety  of  nature  is  no  more  ; — the  sounds  of 
joy  have  ceased,  and  the  flowers  which  opened  to 
the  ray  of  summer  are  all  now  returned  to  dust. 
The  sun  himself  seems  to  withdraw  his  light,  or  to 
become  enfeebled  in  his  power ;  and  while  night 
usurps  her  dark  and  silent  reign,  the  hosts  of  Hea- 
ven burst  with  new  radiance  upon  our  view,  and 
pursue  through   unfathomable  space  their  bright 


280  ON  WINTER  AS  A  SEASON 

career.  It  is  the  season  when  we  best  learn  the 
Greatness  of  Him  that  made  us.  The  appearances 
of  other  seasons  confine  our  regards  chiefly  to  the 
world  we  inhabit.  It  is  in  the  darkness  of  winter 
that  we  raise  our  eyes  to  "  those  Heavens  which 
^'  declare  his  power,  and  to  that  firmament  which 
^^  sheweth  his  handy  work.''  The  mind  expands 
while  it  loses  itself  amid  the  infinity  of  being;  and 
from  the  gloom  of  this  lower  world,  imagination 
anticipates  the  splendours  of  "  those  new  Heavens 
'^  and  that  new  earth,"  w  hich  are  to  be  the  final 
seats  of  the  children  of  God. 

But  there  is  still  a  greater  reflection  which  the 
season  is  destined  to  inspire.  While  we  contem- 
plate the  decaying  sun, — while  we  weep  over  the 
bier  of  nature,  and  hear  the  winds  of  winter  deso- 
lating the  earth, — what  is  it  that  this  annual  revo- 
lution teaches  even  to  the  ini'ant  mind  ?  Is  it,  that 
the  powers  of  nature  have  failed,  that  the  world 
waxeth  old,  and  that  the  night  of  existence  is  ap- 
]^roaching  ?  No  !  It  is,  that  this  reign  of  gloom  and 
desolation  will  pass ; — it  is,  that  spring  will  again 
return,  and  that  nature  will  reassume  its  robe  of 
beauty.  In  the  multitude  of  years  that  have  gone 
before  us,  this  mighty  resurrection  has  annually 
been  accomplished.  To  our  fathers,  and  the  old 
time  before  them,  the  yearly  beneficence  of  Heaven 
has  been  renewed  ;  and,  while  the  night  of  winter 
has  sunk  in  heaviness,  joy  hath  as  uniformly  at« 
tended  the  morning  of  the  spring. 


OF  RELIGIOUS  THOUGHT.  281 

There  is  no  lani;uau;c  which  can  speak  more 
intellii;ihly  to  the  tlioui-htful  miiul  than  tliis  lan- 
guai^e  of  nature ;  and  it  is  repeated  to  us,  as  it 
were,  every  year,  to  teach  us  trust  and  confidence 
in  God.  It  tells  us,  that  tlie  power  wiiich  first 
created  existence  is  weakened  hy  no  time,  and  sub- 
ject to  no  decay  ;— it  tells  us,  that,  in  the  majesty 
of  His  rei2;n,  "  a  thousand  years  are  but  as  one 
"  day,"  while,  in  the  beneficence  of  it,  '•  one  day 
<^  is  as  a  thousand  years  ;" — it  tells  us,  still  farther, 
that,  in  the  maj^nifieent  system  of  liis  government, 
there  exists  no  evil ;  that  the  appearances,  which 
to  our  limited  and  temporary  view  seem  pregnant 
with  destruction,  are,  in  the  mighty  extent  of  his 
Providence,  the  sources  of  returning  good  ;  and 
that,  in  the  very  hours  when  we  might  conceive 
nature  to  be  deserted  and  forlorn,  the  spirit  of  the 
Almighty  is  operating  with  unceasing  force,  and 
preparing  in  silence  the  renovation  of  the  world. 

Such,  my  brethren,  are  the  first  instructions 
which  this  season  is  fitted  to  bring. — Amid  the 
solemn  thoughts  which  it  awakens,  it  leads  us  to 
the  contemplation  of  that  boundless  Wisdom  which 
governs  the  revolutions  of  nature  ; — amid  the 
apparent  decay  of  being,  it  reminds  us  of  that 
Almighty  Power  by  which  all  is  renewed  ;  and,  by 
the  Tery  contrasts  which  it  presents,  it  tells  us  of 
the  unceasing  Goodness  of  Him  "  whom  both  sum- 
*^  mer  and  winter  obey." 

S.  There  is  another  view  of  the  subject. 
36 


282  ON  WINTER,  AS  A  SEASON 

The  seasons  of  the  year,  while  they  all  testify, 
tliough  with  various  voice,  the  attributes  of  the 
Almighty,  have  also  analogies  to  the  condition  of 
man  5  and  every  language  is  full  of  those  simili- 
tudes which  arise  from  the  progress  of  the  year, 
and  the  progress  of  human  life.  Let  me  at  present 
suggest  to  you  some  of  the  most  obvious  of  those 
reflections  which  the  present  season  inspires,  and 
some  of  the  consolations  which  the  appearances 
of  winter  dictate  to  those  whose  condition  may 
resemble  it. 

Its  first  and  most  obvious  analogy  is  to  that  of 
old  age ;  to  the  darkened  eye,  and  the  decaying 
frame,  and  the  hoary  head  upon  which  the  snows 
of  time  have  fallen.  You  have  arrived,  my  bre- 
thren, like  the  year,  at  the  winter  of  your  days, 
but,  as  in  the  annual  revolutions  of  time.  He  that 
formed  you  has  not  decayed.  The  same  power 
which  first  called  you  into  being,  and  spread  the 
blossoms  of  your  spring,  is  now,  in  his  great  sys- 
tem, conducting  you  to  the  termination  of  your 
days,  and  resolving  your  material  frame  into  the 
dust  from  which  it  sprung.  It  is  indeed  a  season 
of  solemnity,  but  let  it  not  be  to  you  a  season  of 
gloom  ; — it  is  the  same  goodness  which  first  led 
you  into  life,  which  is  now  withdrawing  you  from 
it ; — it  is  the  same  unwearied  care  which  presided 
over  the  hour  of  your  birth  that  will  finally  pre- 
side over  the  hour  of  your  dissolution.  Amid  the 
desolations  of  winter,  the  voice  of  nature  tells  you, 


OF  RELIGIOUS  THOUGHT.  283 

that  spring  will  return,  anil  the  earth  will  be  again 
covered  with  the  glory  of  the  Lord: — Amid  tiie 
weakness  and  weariness  of  age,  the  voice  of  Rev- 
el ition  tells  you,  that  another  spring  shall  visit 
the  grave ;  "'  that  the  dead  shall  rise,  and  they 
''  shall  be  changed  ;''  and  that,  in  the  gTcat  des- 
tiny of  the  virtuous  soul,  the  frailty  of  man  shall 
put  on  "  incorruption  ;"  and  the  infirmities  of  age 
shall  put  on  "  immortality." 

The  second  great  relation  which  the  season  of 
winter  has  to  the  condition  of  man,  is  to  that  of 
those  who  mourn ; — those  who,  in  this  imperfect 
and  unfinished  state  of  being,  are  suffering  under 
the  apparent  influences  of  chance  and  time.  How 
many  are  there,  in  every  congregation,  to  whom 
this  similitude  may  apply! — they  who  labour 
under  the  pressure  of  unmerited  disease, — or 
struggle  with  the  hardships  of  hopeless  poverty, 
— or  weep  over  the  many  unforeseen  miseries  of 
domestick  life ; — they  who  have  once  known  bet- 
ter days,  and  are  now  consigned,  by  the  cruelty 
of  the  world,  to  obscurity  and  neglect ; — and  they, 
far  more,  who  bend  over  the  ashes  of  those  whom 
they  loved,  and,  bereaved  of  all  they  held  dear, 
refuse  the  voice  of  comfort.  To  such  mourners, 
to  those  who  in  the  state  of  trial  are  innocently 
suffering,  the  great  language  of  consolation  is 
doubtless  that  of  the  Gospel.  It  is  such  tears 
which  faith  alone  can  dry ; — and  it  is  upon  such 
secret  chambers  of  resigned  distress,  "  that  the 


284  OlSf  WINTER,  AS  A  SEA  SOT? 

<^*  spirit  of  God  descends,  with  healing  upon  his 
wings."  Yet  let  me  also  remind  you,  my  brethren, 
that  nature  too  has  its  voice  of  consolation  ; — and 
that  the  same  God  who  made  summer  the  emblem 
of  the  duties  of  prosperity,  has  made  winter  also 
the  emblem  of  the  graces  of  adversity.     You  have 
arrived,  then,  at  the  moral  winter  of  your  being, — 
the  night  of  sorrow  is  closing  over  your  heads, — 
and  the  sun  which  brightened  your  former  days 
seems  to  be  withdrawing  from  your  view.     It   is 
the  kindred  spectacle  which  nature  now  presents 
to  your  eyes. — Yet  the  sun,  you  know,  will  again 
return  unto  his  place  in  the  heavens  ; — the  clouds 
that  shroud  the  face  of  the  earth  will  disappear, 
and  the  voice  of  joy  will  be  heard  amid  the  pro- 
mises of  another  season.  Think  not,  my  brethren, 
that  the  Providence   which   thus  watcheth  over 
material  nature  is  regardless  of  the  moral  happi- 
ness of  man  ; — think  rather,   that  he  thus   opens 
to  you  the  laws  of  his  government,  and  that  he 
makes  the  year  of  nature  the  emblem  of  your  im- 
mortal year ; — think,  far  more,  that,  in  his  moral 
system,  there  is  no  evil  to  the  virtuous ;  and  that 
it  is  not  the  momentary  state,   but  the  final  issue 
which  is  to  disclose  his  eternal  design.     While, 
therefore,  you  see  the  storms  of  winter  preparing 
the  earth  for  the  blossoms  of  another  spring,  let 
them  be  the  sign  to  you  of  those  kind  severities  by 
which  he  prepares  your  souls  for  greater  joys  ; — 
by  which  he  purifies  your  desires,  and  strengthens 


©F  RFXIGIOUS  TIIorCHT.  285 

your  faith,  and  weans  you  from  tlie  love  of  a  tem- 
porary being; — and  while,  during  the  lo?ig  ni.^^lit, 
ye  behold  the  splendours  of  the  distant  Heavens, 
let  them  point  out  to  your  prophetick  eye,  that 
region  of  final  bliss,  ^'  those  green  pastures,  and 
<*  those  still  waters,"  where,  after  the  wilderness 
of  life  is  past,  there  is  "  rest  for  the  children  of 
*'  God." 

I  would  to  God,  my  brethren,  that  all  of  us, 
whether  young  or  old,  whether  sorrowful  or  li;>p- 
py,  could  raise  our  minds  to  these  high  medita- 
tions ;  and  that,  while  we  listened,  in  the  hours 
of  solitude,  to  the  instructions  of  Revelation,  we 
would  listen  also,  in  our  common  hours,  to  the 
kindred  instructions  of  Nature.  It  is  sucii  habits 
of  thought  that  best  incorporate  religion  with  our 
souls  ; — that  make  us  see  the  Eeity  in  every 
scene  we  visit,  and  every  appearance  we  behold; 
— and  convert  the  world,  in  which  the  ignorant 
and  the  thoughtless  perceive  only  the  reign  of 
chance  and  time,  into  the  temple  of  the  living  and 
the  present  God. 

Of  the  innumerable  eyes  that  open  upon  nature, 
none  but  those  of  man  see  its  author  and  its  end. 
There  is  something  very  solemn  in  this  mighty 
privilege.  It  is  the  privilege  of  a  being  not 
made  to  perish  with  Time,  and  formed,  in  some 
greater  hour,  to  know  him  who  inhabiteth  Eterni- 
ty.  It  is  the  privilege,  still  more,  of  that  be- 
ing, whom,  amid  the  clouds  and  darkness  of  this 


286  ON  WINTER,  &c. 

lower  world,  the  Son  of  God  came  in  mercy  to 
seek  and  to  save. 

Let  then,  my  brethren,  the  storms  of  winter 
blow,  and  the  rains  of  Heaven  descend.  While 
every  inferiour  nature  shrinks  from  their  approach, 
let  us  meet  them  as  the  signs  of  the  same  good- 
ness, which  brings  forth  tlie  promises  of  spring, 
and  fulfils  the  hopes  of  the  harvest ; — let  us  see 
them,  as  the  evidence  of  that  wisdom,  which 
makes  momentary  evil  the  source  of  final  good, 
and  which  can  make  the  tears  which  mortality 
sheds,  in  a  greater  state,  to  be  reapt  in  joy.  What- 
ever may  be  the  natural  or  moral  appearances 
which  we  behold,  let  us  never  forget  that  the 
same  Almighty  mind  reigns  amid  them  all  ; — 
that  to  the  wise  and  the  virtuous  "  all  things  are 
'^  working  together  for  good ;"  and  that,  amid  the 
winter  of  our  moral  nature,  that  mind  is  formed, 
and  those  dispositions  are  nursed,  which  are  to 
re-awaken,  under  the  influence  of  a  greater  spring ; 
and  to  exist  when  the  revolutions  of  nature  are 
past,  and  when  time  itself  shall  be  no  more. 


^im-'T'^'^-w^- 


SERMON  XXU. 


ON  TIIE  GENERAL  THANKSGIVING,  JANUARY  13,  1814. 


St.  Matthew  xvii.  4. 

"  Then  answered  Peter,  and  said  unto  Jesus,  Lord,  it  is  good  for  us 
to  be  liere  :  if  thou  wilt,  let  us  make  liere  three  tabernacles,  one 
for  thee,  and  one  for  IVloses,  and  one  for  Elias." 

These  words  were  spoken  in  a  moment  of  deep 
astonishment  and  s^ratitude.  Onr  Saviour,  as  we 
read,  had  carried  up  his  three  disciples,  without 
any  previous  preparation  for  the  mighty  scene 
that  was  to  follow,  "  into  an  high  mountain,  apart 
"  hy  themselves,  and  was  then  transfigured  be- 
"  fore  them.  And  his  face  did  shine  as  the 
'^  sun  ;  and  his  raiment  was  as  white  as  light : 
'^  And  behold  there  appeared  unto  them  Moses 
"  and  Elias  talking  with  Him."  It  was  then  that 
Peter  broke  out  into  those  words,  that  so  faithfully 
express  the  tumult  of  his  astonished  but  grateful 
mind  :  "  Lord,  it  is  good  for  us  to  be  here  ;  and, 
*'  if  thou  wilt,  let  us  make  here  three  tabernacles, 
"  one  for  thee,  and  one  for  Moses,  aad  one  for 
«  Elias.'' 


288         ON  THE  GENERAL  THANKSGIVING,  1814. 

It  is  with  some  such  mingled  sentiments  of 
astonishment  and  of  thankfu.ness,  that  the  people 
of  this  country  must  assemble  in  the  service  of 
this  grateful  day.  After  long  years  of  doubt  and 
of  darkness,  after  hopes  long  deferred,  and  prayers 
long  unanswered,  the  dawn  of  brighter  years 
seems  rising  upon  the  world.  The  waves  of  the 
deluge  are  retiring; — the  green  hills  appear  ; — 
the  dove  of  peace  seems  approaching  «s  with  the 
olive  branch  upon  her  wings ; — and  the  radiant 
sign  of  mercy  from  above  is  glowing  in  the  clouds 
ofKeav^n.  In  such  moments  of  wonder  and  of 
joy,  I  feel  that  the  duties  of  this  place  cannot  be 
performed.  I  bow  my  head  before  the  throne  of 
God  in  deep,  (and  I  could  wish  in  silent)  thank- 
fulness. And  I  dare  only  present  to  you  a  few 
hasty  and  disturbed  reflections,  which  your  own 
meditation  must  improve. 

What  the  blessings  are,  for  which  we  are  now 
assembled  in  thankfulness  before  God,  the  most 
careless  eye  must  see,  and  the  simplest  tongue 
can  tell.  The  departed  year  rose  upon  us  in  the 
midst  of  calamity  and  gloom.  While  the  great 
contest  was  as  yet  doubtful,  upon  which  the  fate 
of  the  social  world  depended,  the  miseries  of  want 
and  of  war  were  settling  every  day  more  deeply 
over  our  own  land.  The  usual  channels  of  its 
industry  were  obstructed ; — the  sounds  of  labour 
and  of  joy  began  to  cease  in  our  streets  ; — the 
character  even  of  our  people  begau  to  change  5— • 


OF  THE  GEXERAL  THANKSGIVING,  1811.  289 

and,  amid  the  gloom  tliat  gathered  around  the 
poor  mau's  heart,  new  and  unheard  of  crimes 
arose,  and  the  peaceful  habitations  of  men  began 
to  be  tilled  with  violence  and  with  blood. 

How  diiJereut  are  the  scenes  with  which  this 
auspicious  year  begins  ! — The  great  conflict  of 
the  social  world  is  over  : — The  mighty  are  fallen  ; 
and  the  weapons  of  war  have  perished. — The  cry 
of  freedom  bursts  from  the  unfettered  eartli  ;  and 
the  banners  of  victory  wave  in  all  the  winds  of 
heaven.  Again,  in  every  corner  of  our  own  land, 
the  voice  of  joy  and  of  gladness  is  heard.  The 
cheerful  sounds  of  labour  rise  again  from  our 
streets,  and  the  dark  ocean  b  gins  again  to  bright- 
en with  our  sails.  Over  tliis  busy  scene  of  hu- 
man joy,  the  g  nial  influences  of  Heaven  have 
descended.  The  unclouded  sun  of  summer  has 
ripened  for  us  all  the  riches  of  the  harvest.  The 
God  of  nature  hath  crowned  the  year  with  his 
goodness,  and  all  things  living  are  filled  with 
plenteousness.  Who  is  there  that  has  not  felt 
the  blessings  of  the  year?  Even  the  infant,  while 
he  partakes,  unconsciously,  of  the  general  joy, 
lifts  his  innocent  hands  to  that  Heaven  from  which 
he  sees  come  all  tie  hopes  of  man  ;  and  the  aged 
man,  when  he  remembers  the  sufferings  of  former 
years,  is  apt  to  say  with  the  good  old  Simeon  in 
the  gospel,  **  Lord,  now  let  thy  servant  depart  in 
*'  peace,  for  mine  eyes  have  seen  thy  salvation.'' 
87 


'290         ON  THE  GENERAL  THANKSGIVING,  1814. 

But  there  are  other,  and  more  geaeriil  subjects 
of  thankfulness,  my  brethren,  which  oij;^ht  now 
to  occupy  our  minds.  In  this  solemn  liour  we 
seem  to  be  conducted  by  the  hand  of  Kiaven,  like 
the  disciples  of  old,  unto  an  higii  mounlaiii,  from 
which  we  may  look  down  upon  the  darkened 
world  we  have  left,  and  upwards  to  those  scenes 
where  Heaven  is  displaying  its  glory.  The  im- 
ages of  the  past,  and  of  the  future,  are  thronging 
around  us ;  and,  wherever  we  turn,  tliere  are 
new  subjects  of  gratitude  that  arise  before  us. 

1.  Our  first  subject  of  thankfulness  on  this  day, 
is  for  our  Country  ;  that  she  has  survived  all  the 
dangers  which  threatened  her ; — that  she  has  ful- 
filled the  lofty  duty  to  which  the  will  of  the  Al- 
mighty has  called  her.  Dear  even  to  the  savage 
heart  is  the  land  of  his  fathers  ; — dear  to  the  cit- 
izen of  civilized  ages  are  the  institutions  of  nation- 
al wisdom,  and  the  monuments  of  national  glory ; 
— but  upon  no  human  heart  did  the  claims  of  his 
country  ever  fall  so  deep  and  so  irresistible,  as 
they  now  do  upon  the  citizen  of  this  country. 
Other  nations  have  preceded  her  in  the  road  of  arts 
and  arms  ; — other  nations  have  wreathed  around 
their  brows  the  laurels  of  science,  and  the  palms 
of  victory  :  But  the  high  destiny  to  which  she  ba$ 
of  late  been  called,  no  other  nation  has  ever  shar- 
ed with  her  ;  and  all  the  glories  of  former  times 
fade  before  the  moral  splendour  which  now  encir- 
cles her.     She  has  been  called  to  suard  the  for- 


ON  THE  GENERAL  THANKSGIVING,  1814.  291 

tunes  of  tlie  human  race  ;  to  preserve,  amid  her 
waves,    the  sacred   flame   tliat  was  to   relume   the 
world  ;  and,  like  the  cherubini  that  watclied  the 
gates  of  paradise,  to  turn   every  way  her  flaming 
sword  against  tlie  foes  of  God  and  man.     These 
were  her  duties,  and  nolily  has  she  fulfilled  them. 
Through  every  dark,  and  every  disastrous  year ; 
— while  nation  after  nation  sunk  around  her ; — 
while  monarchs  bent  their  imperial  heads  beneath 
the  yoke,  and  the  pulse  of  moral  nature  seemed  to 
stand    still    in  ignominious    terrour, — She    alone 
hath   stood,   insensible  to  fear,  and  incapable   of 
sulunission.     It  is  her  hand,  that,  amid  the  dark- 
ness of  tlie  storm,   hath  still   steadfastly   pointed 
the  road  to  liberty ;  it  is  her  treasures  which  have 
clothed  every   trembling  people  with  armour  for 
the  combat ;— it  is   her   sons,  (her  gallant  sons!) 
who  have  rushed  into  the  van  of  battle,  and  first 
broke  the  spell  that  paralyzed  the  world ;  and,  in 
these  recent  days,  it  is  her  commanding  voice  that 
has  wakened  the   slumbering  nations  of  mankind, 
and  sent  them  on  their  glorious  march,  conquering 
and  to  conquer. — And  now,   my  brethren,  in  the 
hour  of  her  triumph, — now,  when  all  that  is  brave 
or  generous  in  the  human  race  bow  before  her, — 
where  is   she  to  be  found  ?  And  what  is  the  atti- 
tude in  which  she  presents  herself  to  her  children  ? 
— Oh, — not  in   the   attitude  of  human   pride,   or 
human  arrogance  ; — not  with  the  laurels  of  victo- 
ry upon  her  brow,  or  with  troops  of  captives  fol- 


292  OX  THE  GENERAL  THANKSGIVIN^G,  1R14. 

lowing  hev  cliari(  t  wheels  : — It  is  in  the  attitude  of 
pious  thankfulness  ;  with  hands  uplifted  in  praise, 
and  eyes  downcast  in  gratitude  ; — it  is  before  the 
Eternal  Throne  that  she  bctws  her  victorious  head, 
and  casts  her  crown  of  glory  upon  the  ground, 
and  calls  her  children  to  kneel  aloug  with  her, 
and  to  praise  the  Father  of  Nature  that  he  hath 
selected  her  to  be  the  instrument  of  his  raercy  to 
mankind.  These  rae  triumphs  to  wliicli  the  his- 
tory of  the  world  has  no  parallel.  In  the  long 
line  of  her  splendour,  what  hour  is  to  be  compared 
with  this  ?  Which  of  us  does  not  feel  somewhat 
of  her  glory  to  be  reflected  upon  our  own  heads? 
And  what  British  heart  is  tlere  which  does  not 
pray  that  such  may  be  ever  her  name,  and  her 
character  among  mankind  ? 

2.  From  your  own  country,  my  brethren,  turn 
your  eyes,  in  the  second  place,  to  the  world  around 
you ;  observe  the  prospects  that  are  now  opening 
upon  the  human  race  ;  aud  say,  whether  there  be 
not  here  a  new  subject  of  thankfulness  to  Heaven. 

The  years  which  we  have  seen  have  been  years 
of  no  common  apprehension  or  despondence.  It 
was  not  with  the  usual  features  of  publick  dis- 
tress they  were  marked, — by  riches  dissipated, 
or  provinces  lost,  or  armies  defeated  ; — it  was  by 
features  of  a  deeper  hue,  and  of  a  more  terrifick 
form.  Through  the  whole  social  system  a  spirit 
of  moral  disorder  had  gone  forth,  which  seemed 
to  threaten  the  dissolution  of  society  itself.     Be- 


&N  THE  GENERAL  TIIANKSCIVIIVC,  1814,  293 

fore  the  gigantick  march  of  violence  and  of  ambi- 
tion, the  human  head  seemed  every  where  to 
bow,  and  the  human  heart  to  lose  its  energy. 
Kings  sunk  from  their  thrones,  and  nations  sur- 
rendered their  liberties.  The  occupations  of  in- 
dustry ceased; — the  intercourse  of  natio^  was 
arrested  ; — and  men  seemed  quietly  to  resign 
themselves  to  poverty  and  to  suffering,  that  one 
arrogant  nation  might  rule,  and  one  impious  mind 
triumph.  It  seemed,  to  our  desponding  eye,  as 
if  the  old  age  of  the  human  race  had  come, — as 
if  the  Sun  of  Righteousness  was  about  to  set 
amid  the  shadows  of  evening,  and  one  long  night 
overspread  the  moral  world.  These  days,  and 
these  terrours,  are  past.  The  spirit  of  God  hath 
again  moved  upon  the  face  of  the  deep,  and  the 
order  and  the  harmony  of  creation  is  again  be- 
ginning to  appear.  The  dread  career  of  guilt 
and  of  ambition  hath  been  run  ;  their  temporary 
triumphs  fade ;  and  the  Eternal  hand  hath  mark- 
ed the  line  whither  they  shall  come,  and  no  far- 
ther, and  where  their  proud  waves  shall  be  staid. 
From  every  corner  of  the  baptized  world  ;  "from 
^^  the  east  and  from  the  west ;  from  the  south  and 
from  the  north,"  the  warriours  of  justice  and  of 
freedom  come.  Their  sovereigns  even  lead  the 
way,  and  place  the  helmet  upon  their  imperial 
brows,  and  march  with  their  people  into  glorious 
battle.  Beneath  their  victorious  banners  kings 
re-ascend  their  thrones,  and,  nations  recover  their 


294        ON  THE  GENERAL  THANKSGIVING,  1814. 

liberties.  The  fetters  fall  from  the  hands  of  in- 
dustry ;  the  ocean  echoes  anew  to  the  song  of  the 
mariner ;  liberty  and  joy  re-enter  the  poor  man's 
dwelling  ;  and  the  voice  of  the  mother  is  no  longer 
weeping  for  the  children,  that  have  been  torn  from 
her  arms  to  swell  the  hosts  of  a  tyrant.  Who  is 
there  anions;  us,  my  brethren,  that  is  admitted  to 
witness  this  moral  transfiguration,  who  doth  not 
hear  also  the  voice  of  God?  and  where  is  the 
country  from  which,  in  these  blest  days,  the  song 
of  triumph  does  not  rise,  "  The  hosts  of  the  guilty 
^'are  scattered,  and  the  Lord  God  Omnipotent 
^^  reigneth  ?" 

3.  There  is  yet,  however,  my  brethren,  another 
subject  of  thankfulness  upon  this  day.  It  is  for 
the  religious  prospects  that  are  opening  upon  man- 
kind, and  for  that  renewed  light  with  which  the 
Pay  Spring  from  on  high  is  now  rising  upon  the 
Christian  world. 

Deep  as  hath  been  the  gloom  which  so  long  has 
settled  upon  the  societies  of  men,  its  most  appalling 
feature  hath  been  its  impiety  ;  and  when  you  trace 
the  late  miseries  of  mankind  to  their  source,  you 
will  find  them  all  to  originate  in  that  cold  and 
cheerless  spirit  of  Infidelity,  which  arose  in  the 
centre  of  European  civilization  ; — which  dried  up, 
as  it  spread,  all  the  fountains  of  greatness,  or  of 
generosity  in  the  human  soul  ; — and  which,  dis- 
solving all  the  obligations,  and  all  the  charities  of 
life,  ceased  not  till  it  had  extinguished  both  the 


ON  THE  GENERAL  THANKSGIVING,  1814.       295 

majesty  of  the  throne  and  the  sanctity  of  the  altar. 
It  was  from  this  dense  and  pestilential  vapour  that 
that  terrifick  form  arose,  upon  which,  like  the 
vision  which  appeared  unto  the  prophet,  the  world 
for  so  many  years  has  gazed  with  astonishment 
and  with  alarm.  It  was  from  hence  that  those 
impious  hosts  have  issued,  whose  crimes  and  whose 
impieties  have  still  more  appalled  mankind  than 
their  arms  ;  who  warred  not  with  the  common  guilt 
of  men,  against  the  wealth  or  the  liberties  of  na- 
tions, but  against  all  that  man  holds  dear,  or  nations 
think  holy  ; — who  struck  tiie  dagger  of  their  enmi- 
ty, not  into  the  bosoms  but  into  the  souls  of  the 
conquered  ; — and  who  thought  tlieir  infernal  tri- 
umph incomplete,  until  they  had  overthrown  every 
altar  at  which  human  misery  wept,  and  was  com- 
forted. 

These  days,  too,  are  over.  "  He  hath  blown 
"  with  his  wind,  and  they  are  scattered."  The 
cross  is  again  triumphant  in  the  sky,  and  in  its 
sign  the  faithful  have  conquered.  The  mi^ht  of 
the  gospel  hath  infused  itself  into  the  soldier's  arm  • 
and,  while  the  foe  is  prostrate  upon  the  ground' 
the  mild,  but  thrilling  voice,  seems  again  to  be 
heard  from  Heaven,  "I  am  Jesus,  whom  thou  per- 
*'  secutest." 

— TJie  days,  indeed,  are  past,  but  their  memory, 
my  brethren,  will  never  pass.  They  will  remain 
to  the  last  posterity  to  record  the  dread  eiieets  of 
infidelity  upon  Imman  happiness,  and  upou  human 


296       ON  THE  GENERAL  THANKSGIVING,  1814. 

character.  Tlie  eyes  of  the  most  distant  genera- 
tions  will  look  back  upon  them  and  tremble  ;  and 
the  parent  of  every  future  age,  when  he  wishes  to 
instruct  his  children  in  the  importance  of  religion 
to  human  welfare,  will  point  to  thi?  darkest  page 
in  tlie  history  of  man,  and  they  will  weep,  and  be 
instructed. 

While  these  dread  scenes  are  withdrawing  from 
our  view,  how  beautiful,  on  the  other  hand,  and 
how  welcome  to   every  Christian  heart,  are  the 
prospects  that  are  now  unfolding  themselves  !  The 
prospects  of  reviving  Faith,  and  awakened  Hope, 
and  unfettered  Charity.     We  seem  to  hear  again, 
in  our  eventful  days,  the  song  that  broke  the  silence 
of  the  night,  to  announce  "  glory  to  God,  and  on 
'^  earth  peace,  and  good  will  to  mankind."     The 
high  visions  of  Christian  promise  seem  to  open  in 
long  perspective  before  us.     The  years  draw  nigh 
'^  when  all  nations  shall  rest  in  secure  habitations, 
^^  and  in  quiet  resting-places,  and  when  there  shall 
'^  be  wars  no  more.''     We  bend  in  thankfulness 
before  the  promises  of  our  faith  ;  the  events  of  time 
mingle  with  the  prophecies   of  religion  ;  and  we 
say,  with  new  emotion,  to  the  God  who  gave  them, 
^^  Thy  kingdom  come  !   Thy  will  be  done  in  earth 
''  as  it  is  in  Heaven  !" 

Yes  !  my  brethren,  it  is  good  for  us  to  be  here. 
It  is  good  for  us,  while  all  these  blessings  have 
descended  upon  our  own  land,  to  bow  ourselves  on 
this  day,  with  all  its  inhabitants,  before  the  God  of 


ON  THE  GENERAL  THANKSGIVING,  1814.         297 

our  fathers.  It  is  good  for  us,  while  all  these  pros- 
pects are  opening  upon  the  nations  of  the  Christian 
World,  to  offer  our  praise  as  the  iirst-fruits  of  hu- 
man  gratitude  ;  and,  as  we  have  led  them  into  the 
field  of  combat  with  the  injustice  of  man,  to  lead 
them  now  into  the  temple  of  praise  before  the 
throne  of  Heaven. 

Yet  of  so  great  a  day,  who  would  not  wish  some 
monuments  to  remain ! — some  memorials  of  thought 
and  of  emotion  which  might  survive  the  hour  tiiat 
awakens  them  ! — If  these  be  our  sentiments,  my 
brethren,  let  us,  in  these  moments,  imitate  the 
grateful  feeling  of  the  disciple.  Let  us,  too,  raise 
here  three  tabernacles  in  our  bosoms  :  three  altars, 
on  which  we  may  place  the  offerings  of  our  grati- 
tude, and  to  which,  whatever  may  be  the  aspect  of 
future  days,  we  may  return  to  feel  again  the  lofty 
sentiments  of  this. 

Let  the  first  be  raised  to  our  Faith,  to  that  fai^i 
"  in  which  our  fathers  trusted  and  were  holpen  ; 
^'  which  is  able  to  overcome  the  world  :"  and  in 
the  mis;ht  of  which,  men  and  nations  are  secure  of 
immortal  triumph. 

Let  the  next  be  raised  to  our  Country ;  to  that 
country  which  so  long  has  stood  the  landm?irk  of 
the  Iniman  race,  and  against  which  "  the  winds 
"  and  the  waves  have  beat  in  vain."  Let  our 
praise  ascend  to  the  statesmen  who  have  guided 
her  council*  : — +0  the  warriours  who  have  w'elded 
her  arms ;— and  to  that  majestick  People,  who. 
38 


298       ON"  THE  GENERAL  THANKSGIVING,  1814. 

for  SO  many  years,  have  borne  every  thing,  that 
they  mis^ht  preserve  the  liberty  which  their  fa- 
thers bequeathed  them  :  And,  though  one  sadden- 
ing reflection  must  dim  the  splendour  of  the  day, 
though  the  Father  of  his  People  can  no  longer  hear 
the  voice  of  their  praise,  let  not  our  gratitude  yield 
to  misfortune,  but  let  the  blessings  of  his  assem- 
bled people  fall  this  day  upon  his  grey  head,  and 
precede  the  rewards  of  a  greater  world. 

Let  the  last  be  raised,  my  brethren,  to  Those 
who  have  Fallen  in  this  mighty  contest,  to  the 
memory  of  the  young  and  the  brave  who  have  pur- 
chased, with  their  blood,  the  freedom  of  their 
country,  and  of  mankind. — While  the  bones  of  that 
impious  h«Kst,  that  defied  the  living  God,  lie  scatter- 
ed over  every  foreign  land,  and  whiten,  unheeded, 
in  the  winds  of  winter,  let  their  ashes  be  gathered 
with  pious  care,  let  their  monuments  rise  among  ev- 
ery people  whom  they  have  saved,  and  their  names 
di-riify  the  annals  of  their  country  for  ever.  Over 
the  hallowed  page  which  records  their  valour, 
and  their  fall,  let  the  aged  of  our  people,  in  every 
future  year,  pour  the  tears  that  are  due  to  the 
memories  of  the  departed  brave ;  and  thence  let 
the  young  of  our  latest  generations  learn,  what  are 
the  energies  of  British  Freedom,  and  what  the 
genuine  path  of  British  Glory. 

And  Thou,  "  0  God  of  our  fathers ;  Thou, 
«  who  hast  been  their  refuge  in  every  former  gen- 
<i  eration,  and  who  around  us  hast  spread  thiue 


ON  THE  GENERAL  THANKSGIVrNG,  1814,  299 

•^everlasting  arms,"  do  Thou  in  mercy  accept  this 
our  humble  "  sacrifice  of  praise  and  of  thauksgiv- 
^^  ing !''  It  is  "  thy  judgments  that  are  now  in  the 
"  world,"  but,  for  the  mighty  end,  "that  all  the 
"  inhabitants  thereof  may  learn  righteousness." — 
May  thy  paternal  "  Will  ♦  be  done!"  may  thy 
"  Kingdom  come,"  and  end  the  miseries  of  a  guilty 
world  !  From  the  throne  of  thy  mercy  may  peace 
at  last  descend  upon  all  the  habitations  of  men  ! 
and  may  they,  while  they  raise  their  wondering 
eyes  to  Heaven,  behold  there  the  face  of  "  thy 
"  beloved  Son  ;" — and  may  they  bless  Thee, 
"  and  hear  Him  !" 


TH*  Ewn. 


^f 


6iXhi 


DATE  DUE 


jt»-n 

^^^^&^^. 

1 

CAVLORO 

PMINTEOINU.S.A. 

